


A New Final Frontier

by WritingIsMyCoffee



Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: Anxiety, Coming back to earth, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Everyone is glad to be home but a little messed up, F/M, Gen, Lots of hurt/comfort actually, Memory Loss, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, hey I fixed that link issue hooray
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-04
Updated: 2018-04-20
Packaged: 2019-03-13 15:16:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 21,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13573269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WritingIsMyCoffee/pseuds/WritingIsMyCoffee
Summary: In which the crew of the U.S.S. Hephaestus comes back to Earth and learn to readjust to their new realities. Also "How to Doug Eiffel," Tiny Minkowski, a trip to the Bahamas, the power of friendship, and abusing your Roomba powers.





	1. Home Sweet Home (almost)

**Author's Note:**

> I can't guarantee what the upload schedule for this will be (or if I can finish this at all), but I'm enjoying where this fic is going so far. Wolf 359 is an absolute gem and I needed to find some closure after that pucker punch of a finale.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minkowski has a reunion. Doug does some thinking. Jacobi tries to make a run for it.

“Everybody ready?” Lovelace calls out as she cocks the gun in her hand.

Minkowski readies her own weapon and tries to mask the uneasiness eating her from within. “Ready.”

They’ve finally landed back on Earth- _Earth_ , their _home_ -but of course with their luck they must face yet another gun fight before they can finally feel welcomed back. It’s almost impossible not to immediately encounter Goddard Futuristics when you literally fly their own ship back into their headquarters. Not like they had another landing pad to chose from.

_(“Think NASA will let the competition use their landing pads?” Jacobi had quipped._

_“What’s a NASA?” Eiffel asked.)_

Now, they’re stuck inside their docking bay, blast doors closed, anxiously waiting for whomever is on the other side to open them. Lovelace has herself positioned on the right side of the doors with Jacobi, leaving Minkowski on the right with Doug. The latter of the two of them is looking at the gun in his hand with absolute horror, which is understandable given his circumstances.

“U-Uh…have we done something like this before?” Doug asks, voice and hands shaking.

“Unfortunately, yes,” Minkowski replies, trying to keep her own voice steady. She puts a hand over his own and slowly his shaking starts to subside. “Just stay behind me.”

“It’ll be fine Doug,” Hera responds through the _Urania_ ’s speakers. “We won’t let anything happen to you.”

“I-I know, and thanks, b-but…this is _normal for us?_ ”

“Not for much longer, it will be,” Lovelace claims as if telling it to the man upstairs himself.

Just then, footsteps begin to echo from outside the Urania. Voices pass commands back and forth to each other, and with each word spoken Minkowski utters a silent prayer in return. They can do this. They just need to make it through one more fight. She just needs to fight through the pain of her bullet wound and keep Doug alive just a little bit longer.

Just a little bit longer.

The doors begin to open sluggishly, metal scraping against metal to make a loud, screeching sound. Minkowski locks eyes with Lovelace from across the way, each of them nodding in acknowledgement.

There’s no way they’ve come this far to give up so easily. Are they tired? Sure. But they will always be stubborn as hell.

The doors finally part all the way and a full squadron of soldiers in tactical gear come rushing in. Minkowski has ten different guns pointed at her in the fraction of a millisecond. Lovelace and Jacobi aren’t fairing any differently. At this point, whatever concept of a plan they had originally come up with has gone out the window. It hasn’t even been a full minute; a new record for terrible, rushed plans.

One of the soldiers closest to Minkowski looks her over from head to toe before lowering their weapon. It takes her a moment to realize they aren’t wearing a Goddard Futuristics badge. None of them are. “Are you Commander Renée Minkowski of the _U.S.S Hephaestus_?”

Minkowski straightens her back and uses the strongest tone she can possibly manage. “Yes, and this is my crew.”

“Can you identify them?”

“Captain Isabelle Lovelace of the _U.S.S Hephaestus_. Administrative Officer Daniel Jacobi. Communications Officer Douglas Eiffel. In one of the cabins is Doctor Miranda Pryce of Goddard Futuristics.”

“And Hera…the AI unit from the _Hephaestus_ ,” Hera chimes in. “Hi.”

The soldier raises a hand in the air and signals for their fellow subordinates to stand down. Soon, not a single weapon is even dared pointed in their direction and Minkowski allows herself to lower her own. The soldier in front of her flips open the face cover on their tactical helmet and offers her a friendly smile. “Welcome home, commander.”

 

~~~~~

 

After every member of their crew makes each individual soldier swear on their life not to mess with Hera or any technical systems on the Urania, they allow themselves to be taken to a nearby hospital. Apparently, when Minkowski hailed Goddard to land, the U.S. military had already figured out Cutter had basically almost committed mass genocide of the entire planet and had taken over their main facility. Which meant the whole standoff thing had been completely unnecessary.

Oh well. It’s not like they told them on the Urania what was up. Probably because they needed to make sure they had been identified or whatever.

At this point, Minkowski could care less. Right now, her body is being pumped full of “Pain Go Away” medicine, which her bullet wound is immensely thankful for. Across from her in the same hospital room. Jacobi is getting treated for his own bullet wound and the puffy trail of burned skin he received from his little party with Riemann going up his arm. Lovelace is already on her feet, luckily only sustaining a few minor cuts and bruises despite everything (or maybe the universe is finally giving the captain a well-deserved break).

Pryce is somewhere on the other side of the hospital under close observation by the authorities, which Renée is eternally grateful for. Amnesia or not, the lady could still be dangerous as hell.

Through the thin hospital curtain to her left, she can see the outline of Doug sitting on a hospital bed as a doctor wraps his arm up in a sling. Another doctor is standing near him, asking him various questions in a calm, orderly pace.

“How did you break your arm, Mr. Eiffel?”

“I, uh…I don’t remember. I think I crashed a ship? Hera was telling me about some kind of “Fast Ball Special” or something.”

“That is…concerning. Do you feel any other pain in your body? We may need to do an x-ray to make sure there is no internal damage.”

“N-No, I think I’m alright. My head hurts but…not because I got tossed around in space a lot.”

“Is there any immediate family you want us to contact for you? Your spouse or your parents?”

“I…I don’t know if…I have a family.”

The words hit Minkowski like a truck. She winces. It was her decision not to tell Doug about any of his family members. Not his parents, not his ex-girlfriend, not even his daughter. The last thing he needed to be while his brain put itself back together again was overwhelmed.

It doesn’t make the words sting any less. He must feel so confused, so _alone_. Maybe she should have told him, just like Hera and Lovelace tried to convince her to. Just so he knows he isn’t on his own-

“Renée?”

Minkowski’s heart seizes in her chest. Any and all thoughts that were currently floating through her brain vanish. Time freezes as she turns her head and sees her husband standing just a few feet away from her hospital bed.

Dominick. Her husband. The love of her life is standing right in front of her. Nothing else in the world seems to matter because it’s _Dominick_.

He’s aged in the past few years, his features more defined but he’s still handsome all the same. The state of his clothing makes it appear that he grabbed the first flight he could and booked it over here to get to her, which only makes the tears in Minkowski’s eyes form faster. He looks at her, with wide, glistening eyes and mouth fully agape like he’s just seen an angel fall from the heavens.

Minkowski smiles. “Hi honey. I’m home.”

Dominick has his arms wrapped around her not even a moment later, his face buried in the crook of her neck and Minkowski lets the dam holding back everything in her chest explode. She’s sobbing uncontrollably, clutching at whatever she can grab of her husband and holding him close. A part of her is afraid that if she lets go of him, she’ll lose him forever. She’ll let go and be back in the Hephaestus, lightyears away without the comfort of her true love.

“Oh Renée,” Dominick sobs into her shoulder. “Oh Renée, Renée, _Renée_ -“

“I know, I’m so sorry. I-“

“I missed you so much. I-I can’t believe-I never really did-I _knew_ -“

She pulls him back just far enough to kiss him, to make up for every lost moment taken away from them. So many years wasted. So much heartache left to bear. He kisses her back with full force, cradling the side of her face in his hand.

When they part, Minkowski immediately pulls him close to her and tucks her head in his chest. “I love you. I love you so much, Dominick.”

“Are you going to be alright-?”

“No. No I won’t…but you’re here. You’re here and that’s enough. You’re here. _I’m here_. I’m finally _here._ ”

 

~~~~~

 

Doug’s been having…a weird couple of days.

First off, _apparently,_ he lost his entire memory and all his personality because of some weird memory wipe doodad. That’s fun. He’s not really sure whether to mourn over that fact or not given he’s not sure what he should mourn over.

Second off, the entire process of being _in_ space, to being _out_ of space, to having a bunch of guns pointed at his face was defiantly _not fun_. That part kind of goes without saying.

Third off, his arm is super broken and all the questions that brain doctor asked him have him severely bummed out. It’s not everyday someone asks you if you have a family and you _can’t remember_. Does he have a family? Is he married? How the hell is he supposed to no? Can’t someone just look him up on Google or something so he doesn’t have to go through all this amnesia bullshit? No wait, shouldn’t they already have a bunch of his records on stand by since the military already knew they were coming?

Watching Renée reunite with her husband was basically a slap in the face to the whole “Not Remembering His Family” thing, and also a little bit spooky given he doesn’t know her that well. Or at least not as well as he used to. Don’t get him wrong; he’s happy for Renée, one hundred percent. It’s just…he wonders if he knew about Renée’s husband before, or if Renée’s husband knew him. If anyone else on Earth actually knows him. For all he knows, he’s the only one besides the _Hephaestus_ crew who knows of the sarcastic asshole the communication logs tell him he is. The only evidence he has to let him know he isn’t just some random fabrication made up of star dust is his own voice from another lifetime.

Which is the fourth thing he’s concerned about, which may quickly become his number one. Who was he? Who is he now? Is he still Douglas Eiffel or is he someone else now? If he is someone else, is that for better or for worse?

It’s a lot to take in.

As the days roll by and the crew recovers, Doug still finds himself asking those questions over and over again. Every time he does something, says something, there’s a moment of hesitation. Every time he asks himself, “Should I act like Doug Eiffel or should I act like…Doug Eiffel?” Forgetting who you are is confusing.

The only reason he hasn’t completely lost it yet is because Renée always seems to be at his side whenever the questions become too much, when he hesitates for a moment too long before speaking to someone. Whenever Renée isn’t there, Isabel is. And when push comes to shove, Daniel distracts him with a witty joke or two. Doug may not know much, but he does know these people care about him and that alone will be enough help him get through this mess of himself.

Hopefully.

“Doug? You awake?”

Doug sits up in his hospital bed and turns to see Renée looking over at him from hers. Her husband Dominick is sitting by her side, holding her hand with a desperation that shakes Doug to his core. Is there someone  out there who is supposed to be holding his hand right now, or at least someone who would want to? Who’s waiting for him to come home?

He must hesitate again because Renée continues with her thought. “It might be sudden…but we need to talk about living arrangements.”

Doug blinks. “Okay. Uh, why?”

Renée looks to Dominick, who simply nods to her. She looks back to him. “We think it’s best for you to live with someone you’re familiar with until you get back on your feet.”

“Oh okay. _Weeeell_ …I don’t…I’m not really familiar with anyone yet,” he admits because duh, amnesia. “Who…i-is there someone I should try to contact-?”

“Don’t worry about that right now,” Renée assures him. There’s an edge to her voice that’s a bit unsettling, but her tone quickly softens.  “Doug…if it’s okay with you…we…w-will you come live with us?”

Just when it seems like nothing can surprise Doug anymore, some cosmic force throws him for a loop. “Huh?”

“We talked it over,” Dominick continues. “You…I-I can’t thank you enough for helping Renée. Everyone in this hospital room? You saved their lives. The least we can do for you is to help you find your bearings.”

“But…you want me to live with _you guy_ s? Like in your _house_?” Doug asks.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Dominick assures him. “but we’d be happy to have you.”

“I don’t-“ he stumbles over his words. Something about this situation feels off. He has a home. He has a family. He must.

But a tug in his gut is telling him to accept their offer.

Doug thinks about it for a second longer, trying his best to ignore Renée’s fretful gaze. “You sure I wouldn’t be intruding on…well anything. You two just got back together and I feel like you may just want some alone time-“

“Doug,” Renée stops him. “You are more than welcome in our home.”

“We even have a rental property next door to us. Whatever space you need, you can have,” Dominick adds.

“Just please,” Renée continues, “don’t try to go through this on your own.”

It’s so tempting, so _so_ tempting just to say yes to her right then and there, but he hesitates. He hesitates yet again, and he hates it because this is what he wants. This is his friend, isn’t it? A friend who cares about him dearly? He should jump at the chance for help, given how terrified by everything he is right now.

But Doug Eiffel… _the_ Doug Eiffel…he must have a life outside of pop-culture references and the longing urge to smoke again. And as that Doug Eiffel, does he owe it to himself to pursue the life he once lived?

“I’ll…I’ll think about it. Thank you, Renée. Thank you, Dominick, but…I just need to think about it, alright?”

The flash of hurt that passes over Renée’s face makes him wish he could take back his answer, but she puts on a smile before he can do anything to soften the blow. “Of course, Doug. Take your time. You…you will think it over though, right?”

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t…don’t worry about it,” he mumbles as he turns his back to them. Soon he has his head on his pillow and wills himself to sleep just so that he doesn’t have to fight with himself anymore.

 

~~~~~

 

Jacobi’s list of “Things He Hates Most in This World” goes in order as follows: Ducks, Goddard Futuristics, and hospital food.

Sure, the pudding cups are caviar compared to the protein packs back in space, but everything else? Let’s just say if he had any C4 left on him, he’d rid the pantry of its misery.

It is to his immense relief when the hospital finally releases the three of them into the happy hands of the outside world to finish recovery. With nothing to his name besides the bloodstained jumpsuit he brought back with him and the soul-surviving party maker in his pocket, Jacobi begins his walk out of the main lobby.

That is, until Lovelace grabs him by the back of the collar.

“Where do you think you’re going, Mister Jacobi?”

“Uh, where does it look like I’m goin’?”

“I don’t know.” She releases his collar and crosses her arms as he finds his balance. “Looks like you were about to walk out of the lobby all sneaky-silent like without so much as a goodbye.”

 “Oh what? A guy can’t get a little fresh air? Who said I was just leaving?”

Lovelace hums. “I don’t know. Maybe the fact that you’ve been staring longingly out the window for the past thirty minutes and every time we’ve asked you what you’re gonna do once we get out of here, you ignore us?”

“Hey, get off my case. Eiffel doesn’t know what he’s doing either.”

“ _Eiffel_ has a little more leeway than you do because he’s not a fully functioning adult. Then again, given how much you’ve been deflecting, I’m starting to assume you aren’t either.”

“Why is this suddenly the “Let’s Mess with Jacobi” party?” he demands. The door is just a few feet away from him; how far can he limp before the captain catches back up with him? He’s betting at least a fair enough distance.  “What I do with my life is none of your business! Go fly off to the Bahamas or something and leave me alone.”

“Hmm, not happening.”

“Oh, c’mon-“

“I am still a captain, and as your captain-“

“You were never my captain-“

“I’m going to ignore that, Mister Jacobi, because right now I’m trying to hold a civil conversation with you and be compassionate for once. _Don’t_ test my patience.”

Jacobi scoffs, but listens to her none the less.

“As your captain, it is still my duty to look after your wellbeing. Do you have a place to stay? Any family you can get in touch with?”

A dry laugh escapes him. “Yeah right. Like I’m going back to my family after all of this.”

“So you have nowhere to go?”

“Hey now, I didn’t say-“

“You don’t. I already suspected as such.”

“Now you’re jumping to-!”

“Conclusions, Daniel?” Lovelace snaps. “Yes, I am jumping to conclusions because we just made it back home after years of absolute hell and I’m not letting any of my crew members waste their lives because they don’t have a purpose to fill anymore.”

The height difference between the two of them has never bothered Jacobi before, but as he is stared down upon, he can’t help the chill that runs up his spine.

A moment passes and Lovelace sighs. “I’m going on vacation in two weeks. Before then, I’m going to buy an apartment near my parent’s house and get myself as moved in as a possibly can. I expect you to housesit for me when I’m gone.”

The words sink into Jacobi’s brain slowly. “Wait, what? Y-You just expect me to do this favor for you because…because…god damnit.” He runs a hand over his face, pushing up the loose strands of hair hanging over his eyes. Now is not the time to get sentimental. Not when freedom is right within in his grasp. He doesn’t even like the captain, or any of the _Hephaestus_ crew!

Okay, that may be a lie, but still! It’s the principle of the matter! He’s his own man. He can go out and do whatever he wants now without a worry in the world. He can go out to a few bars, meet a few guys, and slot right back into his old routine…

Damnit, he’s really going to agree to house sit for the captain, isn’t he? How sad and miserable has be become?

“ _Ffffffffffffine!_ I’ll…babysit some stupid plants or for you or something! But then I’m out! I’m going rouge! And you can’t stop me!”

Lovelace grins, and something tells Jacobi he just lied to himself again. “If you say so, buddy. If you say so.”

 

~~~

 

As Dominick finishes filling out the proper paperwork that allows them all to leave the hospital, Minkowski stares out the window towards the outside world with Doug by her side.

It’s such a pretty blue, holding such a simple grace in its pale blue appearance. Minkowski forgot how truly beautiful it could be. It trumps the fiery red (and sometimes deep murky blue) Wolf 359 always appeared as. She can’t take her eyes off it.

“Would you look at that?” she whispers delicately. Any other tone of voice should shatter this moment entirely and have her waking back up on the _Hephaestus_ from this wonderful dream.

“It’s...really blue,” Doug comments.

Minkowski can’t help but laugh. God, how she missed the simple, idiotic remarks from the communications officer. What she needs most of all now are some cheap laughs help take the strain of the past off her shoulders. “It is also really blue. You are right.”

A moment of silence passes over them as they continue to stare up at the endless abyss above. Most people don’t truly grasp how far away it stretches, how many stars it holds in its grasp. What a wonder to finally be looking at it from below instead of right in it.

“So…I thought about your offer.”

Minkowski whips her head around the moment Doug starts to speak. “Y-You have? I mean…you have?”

“Yeah…”

His silence scares her more than her first encounter with the plant monster. There are so many ways this conversation can go south and with her luck, it will. “And…what did you decide? I…I won’t be offended if you say no. I just want to look out for you, that’s all. Not in, like, a stalker-ish kind of way. Like a friend way…that sounded weird. Everything I’m saying sounds weird. Uh, let me start over-“

“I want to stay with you.”

Minkowski’s rambling dies on the tip of her tongue. “I’m sorry, what?”

Doug seems taken aback by her response. “I mean-! Only if you want me to! I-I understand if the offer was a heat of the moment thing a-and you’d rather not have me around-“

“Woah, Eiffel! _Doug_. I meant Doug. Calm down. We…oh my god, don’t even _think_ that. We’re happy to have you. I…”

A few years ago, if Renée Minkowski had ever taken Doug Eiffel’s hand in her own, it would either be out of a moment of weakness or to save his ass from whatever danger he had gotten himself in. When the moment would pass, she would let go of him without a second thought. Now, she’s going to find it hard to untether herself from him. “I’m glad you said yes.”

Doug smiles sheepishly. “W-Well…I really wish I could make a pop-culture reference right now, but that might actually ruin the moment now that I think about it. Not that I have a lot of material to pull from, either...”

She simply shakes her head. “We can fix that. But let’s skip Home Alone II for a bit, okay?”

“What’s that?”

“A mediocre movie at best, Doug. Mediocre at _best_.”

Not even a few minutes later, Dominick finishes with the paperwork and the crew of the _U.S.S. Hephaestus_ is finally free to shape their own destinies. Jacobi is the first one out the door, blowing on his party popper like a kid at their own birthday party. Lovelace is close behind him with a grin on her face and even a few tears prickling in the corners of her eyes (but Minkowski would rather die than point that out to her).

“You ready to go?” Dominick asks as he comes up beside her.

Minkowski smiles. “You bet.” She turns to Doug. “Are you ready?”

Dough takes a deep, shuddery breath. The corners of his lips dig downwards but he keeps his chin held high all the same. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

Hand in hand, the two of them take their first steps into their new final frontier.


	2. Weird Dreams and Snack Plates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eiffel dreams. Hera asks some questions. Minkowski eats some carrots.

One Month Later

Doug dreams of radio static and the stars, of monsters and the men they disguise themselves as, and his own voice begging him to answer his call.

Then he wakes up.

The popcorn texture of the ceiling above him is the first sight to greet him this morning, as it has ever since he moved in to Renée and Dominick’s rent house. Also there when he awakes is the stiffness in his back and feeling of emptiness in his chest.

And, of course, Hera.

“Good morning, Doug.” Her voice is as chipper as always, offering quick solace from the questions rattling around in his skull. “Did you sleep well? Any new dreams?”

Running a hand over his face, Doug lets out a lengthy groan. “Nope. Same vague BS as always.” Sluggishly, he sits up in his bed and feels his back pop in seven different places. Geez, he’s not even _that_ old. Why does his body act like a torn punching bag?

“The radio static and the monsters again, huh?” Hera asks.

“Ye _p_ ,” Doug replies, popping the P at the end.

“So nothing new? Any new visions or…memories?”

He sighs, tired of giving the same answer nearly every day now. “Sorry Hera. I…I’m still not getting any Doug Eiffel files back. Slate’s wiped clean.”

“Oh…that’s okay. I mean, it’s only been a month after all…” she mumbles dejectedly.

Doug knows Hera can see him through the dozen security cameras positioned around the house. He knows she spends endless hours of every waking day watching over him and hoping for the Doug Eiffel she knows to pop back into existence like some kind of miracle. The new Doug Eiffel can’t give her a miracle, but he can find the nearest camera offer her some form of comfort. “Hey, what’s on the agenda for today? Are we having another movie marathon or are we listening to another _ACDC_ album?”

 He can practically hear the smile coming out of her vocal processor. “Oh! Right! Commander-I mean, Renée’s coming over around noon to watch some more _Star Trek_ with you. Isabel is flying back to the states as we speak and should be here around the same time.”

Doug slides out of bed and picks up a dirty pair of pants off the ground. He makes a mental note to do some laundry before their guests arrive. “What about Dan?”

Hera hums sharply. “His flight’s still delayed. Should be here by tomorrow.”

“Weather?”

“ _So he claims_ …” she trails off. “Has Jac-Daniel seemed a bit off to you recently?”

Doug’s train of thought comes to a halt. Has Daniel seemed off lately? He hasn’t been playing such close attention to the guy. To be fair, the four of them have been adjusting to life back on Earth; that’s sure to make anyone act a bit unusual. Daniel’s seemed fine to him the last time they met.

Then again, he’s not sure how Daniel acted before his whole memory went capot. Who is he to say Daniel is fine? To say that anything is fine? After everything he’s heard about their journey to Wolf 359, with the plant monsters and double-crossing crew members and the body snatching aliens and Goddard Futuristics murderous agenda-

No, Daniel and the rest of the _Hephaestus_ crew could never be okay after all that…that…God, is there really a way to describe it?

He feels guilty sometimes for forgetting it all, for not being able to fully understand what they went through.

What he went through.

“Doug? Doug, you alright?”

He jumps, dropping the pair of pants in his hand back onto the ground with a tiny shriek. “Oh, sorry. Sorry Hera.”

“No, it’s okay. You just…got real quiet there. Do you still think Daniel’s alright?”

“I don’t know,” Doug answers, bending back down to pick up the pants again. “I haven’t noticed anything too off about him recently. Do… _you_ think he’s alright?”

Hera thinks for a moment then sighs. “I don’t know.”

“Well, I’ll keep an eye on him when he gets here,” Doug assures her. “Now to do some laundry.”

The rest of the morning passes by without any pomp and circumstance. Doug does laundry, procrastinates about cleaning the dishes, checks the clock to see Renée will be coming soon, then does the dishes. Hera passes around conversation with him as the hours tick on by, making sure to give him time checks and remind him to stop drinking so much coffee and eat an actual breakfast you can’t live on coffee beans _Doug_.

By the time noon rolls around and Renée is knocking on his front door, the place is (mostly) spotless and ready to for next session of binge-watching the original _Star Trek_ series. Renée had been the one to suggest they watch it early on, given it was one of the first references Doug Eiffel had left on his communication logs-

No, that _he_ had left. They were _his_ communication logs. They still are. He has to stop differentiating between himself and…himself.

He opens the front door and is immediately greeted by Renée’s smiling face. Despite how negatively an impression he gave her during his logs, Doug can’t think of any other person who has been so considerate to him (besides Hera). Somehow, she just seems to know exactly what to say when the dots in his brain just don’t connect quite right, or when he falls silent for minutes on end and freezes in place.

They greet, they hug, and then they’re inside booting up Netflix just like they do every other morning. It’s almost a daily routine now, with the occasional grocery trip and “Husband Time” events keeping it from being that way. They each take a seat in the living room, side-by-side on the couch normally with a bowl of popcorn or another snack food between them. Hera talks to each of them with fondness in her voice and Doug tries his best to carry the same bond in his tone Renée and her share. There’s so much more time between them, an entire lifetime of inside jokes and set boundaries, leaving Doug on the sidelines to observe and step in whenever he thinks he can come up with an appropriate response.

“How’s your day been?” Renée asks while the episode is loading. She pops a baby carrot into her mouth from the hodge-podge plate between them; a perfect balance of boring, healthy stuff and calorie-packed junk food positioned right between their thighs.

Doug shrugs, reaching for a potato chip. “Got the place presentable. By the way, I _definitely_ didn’t put all my stuff into that hall closet over there.”

“Uh huh, sure,” Hera muses.

Renée snorts. “Ah, never change Doug.”

“I’ll try not to again.” He pops the chip into his mouth with a loud crunch before noticing the slight frown present on her face. “Sorry. Was that…too soon?”

She smiles, but Doug sees the sorrow in her eyes. “It’s fine, Doug,” Renée assures him. “But I guess while we’re on the subject…any new dreams?”

Doug holds back a groan and shakes his head, mouth full of the remains of what was once a perfectly fresh potato. “Noggins still empty. Sorry.” Renée simply nods and takes a deep breath before turning to face the TV.

Two episodes later, their snack plate has been long devoured, and the plot of the show is still completely off the rails. Somehow, the writers managed to convince the producers to devote an entire episode of the crew looking for Spock’s missing brain. The sixties were a wild time to be alive when it came to pop-culture apparently.

As the third episode boots up, Renée starts to squirm in her seat. It starts with one of her knees bouncing up and down, before suddenly her breathing gets louder. Doug barely has a chance to ask if she’s okay before she clamps a hand over her mouth and runs out of the room.

“Renée? Renée?!”

Doug jumps off the couch, paying no mind to the snack plate that falls to the floor, and takes off after her. He follows her all the way down the adjacent hallway and passed the kitchen, right until she slams the bathroom door in his face.

He waits anxiously on the other side, pressing his ear up against the stained wood barrier. “Renée, you alright-?”

The sound of vomiting is his only response.

“Oh shit. D-Do you need any help? Are you okay?”

“Commander?!” Hera frets through the house speakers.

“I’m…I think I’m alright, Hera. And Eif-I mean-“

More vomiting. Doug stands outside the bathroom for several minutes, a nervous itch running up his spine, before Renée finally reemerges. There doesn’t seem to be any signs of illness on her face upon inspection. No sweat across her forehead, and her bags seem just as dark as they were yesterday. Her hair is thrown into a sloppy bun, most likely a makeshift one to keep it from falling in her face while her body upheaved the baby carrots and potato chips she just ate.

Still Doug makes sure to ask the obvious. “Are you feeling sick?”

Renée blinks heavily. “No, not…not really. I wasn’t before, and I don’t think…”

Her eyes widen.

“I…I gotta go.”

“But Com-“ Hera starts.

“I said I gotta _go_ ,” Renée spats without warning, already racing out the door. She leaves the front entrance open, leaving a confused Doug to stand in the doorway.

“Hera? W-What was that about?”

“I-I don’t know, Doug.”

“Should I, like, follow her?”

Hera sighs sharply. “She’s just next door. Let’s wait and see if something’s really wrong.”

Just then, there’s a loud honk and Doug watches as an unfamiliar truck pulls into his driveway. The driver side window is rolled down far enough for the driver to lean out and wave wildly to him. A grin makes its way across his face.

“Hey, Hera? I think Isabel’s back.”


	3. Sun-Tanned and Cheeto Dusted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lovelace does a raid. Eiffel has some visions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> do you ever think about how Eiffel was the one who supported Hera the most when she didn't believe in herself and how he can't remember any of that and you just want to die

Isabel is standing on Doug’s front porch mere minutes later, a large duffle bag slung over her shoulders and a pair of sunglasses placed over her eyes. There is a red tint to her skin, undoubtedly from spending too much time on the sandy beaches of the Bahamas during her well-earned vacation.

The height difference between the two of them is never apparent during their many skype calls, but boy howdy is a thing now. Doug feels his body almost tense up on instinct simply by being under her shadow.

Isabel raises one brow above the rim of her glasses and smiles coyly. “Well, did ya miss me?”

Any sense of intimidation is gone with that one crack in her façade. Doug spreads his arms out wide and laughs. “Well, _duh_. Welcome back, Captain Kirk!”

Isabel quickly accepts his offered hug and holds him tight enough against her for his back to pop. “You finally used a right pop-culture reference correctly! Someone’s been doing their homework.”

“Ow-Iz. Can’t _breathe-_ “

“Have you had any new memories?”

“No-Ack! Only dreams-!”

“And you haven’t been drinking, _right?_ ”

“No drinks! No drinks! Just please, I need to- _oof!_ ”

Isabel gives him one last hearty squeeze before setting him back down on his feet. The taste of air has never been sweeter on Doug’s tongue. “Good. Just making sure. It’s really great to see you, Doug.”

“It’s really great to see you too, Iz.”

She laughs. “So, what’ve you been off to recently? Besides awaiting my humble arrival, of course.”

“Oh, you know, taking care of the house. Trying to make a resume out of nothing. Catching up with Hera-Oh! Hera! C’mon in, she’ll want to see you.”

Grabbing her hand, Doug practically drags Isabel into the room and hollers, “HEY HERA! LOOK WHO’S HERE!”

“I have outdoor cameras too, Doug. I already knew she was here,” Hera reminds him cynically. However, her tone clearly gives away her excitement. “Captain-Uh, Isabel! It’s so good to see you!”

“Good to hear you, too,” Isabel smiles. “How’s the house treating you?”

“It’s a little cramped, not gonna lie,” she admits, “but there’s nowhere I’d rather be…or could go for the matter.”

“We can work on persuading Renée to expand the place for you. I’m sure she’ll be nothing but understanding.”

Hera makes a disgruntled noise. “Maybe.”

“She will. Trust me.” Isabel slings her duffle bag off her shoulder and throws it aside. “Now, Doug, where do you keep your most disgusting, calorie-inducing snacks? I haven’t eaten since before my flight and I’m _starving_.”

Doug gives her free-run of his pantry, showing her where the best grub is and reminding her that Hera has full-control of all his kitchen appliances. Isabel’s favorite pickings seem to be his party-sized bag of Cheeto puffs and frozen package of deep-fried Twinkies, which she tears into like a wild dog. When the two of them first met (or at least when they met after his brain’s hard drive was tossed into a garbage disposal), she had the appearance of someone who only drank protein powder and ate organic foods. Now he knows she has a similar (if not the same) diet as him, and yet she somehow manages to same is such great shape. It’s not fair, if you ask him.

Cheetos gone and Twinkies devoured, Isabel lays a hand over her bulging stomach and tries to cover a rather large burp. She fails, causing the three of them to laugh. “That hit the spot.”

“Hmmhmm,” Doug hums in acknowledgement as he reaches over to pick up her trash. “I know it probably doesn’t beat whatever they’ve got over in the Bahamas, but this is the grub that keeps a man going in life, ya know?”

“More like the grub that takes you out of life,” Hera quips.

Isabel snickers, clearly a little high on sugar despite how hard she tries to lay it off. Take away her strong demeanor and she’s really no different than Doug herself. “Hey, I eat healthy stuff.”

“Name one vegetable.”

“Seriously?”

“Name one, captain.”

“A grapefruit-I mean! Hey wait! You caught me off guard!”

Hera cackles. “Sure, _sure_ I did.”

Isabel starts fuming. “Broccoli! Brussel sprouts! Carrots! Cucumbers! I can go all day!”

“Oh really?”

“REALLY.”

As they bicker, Doug quietly slips into the laundry room adjacent to the kitchen. Beside the nice set of his washer and dryer is the trash can, the same trash can that was originally sitting next to his fridge. However, to keep Renée off his back about not emptying it before she can over, it has been given a temporary home here until he either remembers to empty it or starts to smell it a few days from now.

(In all honestly, he knows the latter is going to be the reason he even remembers he moved it to the laundry room in the first place.)

The smell of old coffee grounds and moldy banana peels smacks Doug right in the nose the second he opens the trash can lid. With the grace of a bomb defusal expert, he carefully stuffs Isabel’s waste into the garbage and shuts the lid again.

Done and done.

He steps away from the trash can and makes his way back to the kitchen, a smile spreading across his face as he catches various snippets of Isabel and Hera’s conversation. Whoever he was before must have been one of the luckiest people alive for having friends like those two. Not to mention Renée and Daniel. Their compassion for each other, while mostly kept to themselves, emanates off them in waves. Just hearing their voices fills him with good, touchy-feely kind of vibes (which isn’t the best way to describe how it feels but still).

They care so much about each other. Doug wonders if they acted the same way when he still remembered everything. He wonders who he may have cared for the same way on Earth before-

A sharp pain shoots through his skull, causing his heart to seize up in his chest. He clutches at his chest as his lungs struggle to take in air, each breath turning into a strangled gasp. The pain intensifies with every passing moment, quickly becoming too much too fast, before suddenly he’s on his knees.

Doug barely hears the conversation in the other room end, and when Hera is asking what’s wrong through the speaker above his head it comes out muffled. He can’t hear. He can’t breathe. He can’t control what’s happening. All he can do is take it, and even then, he wants the douse the fire in his head and make the misery _stop_ -

_“Let’s call her Anne.”_

His own voice hits Doug like a freight train.

_“Why Anne?”_

_“It sounds pretty.”_

_“It sounds pretty?”_

_“Yeah…you don’t like it?”_

_“…no, I do. I actually like it a lot.”_

_“Anne.”_

_“Our little Anne.”_

_“She’s got your eyes.”_

_“Got your hair.”_

_Wonder who she’ll turn out like more.”_

_“If she’s anything like you, I’m gonna lose my mind.”_

_“Hey!”_

Tears spring to Doug’s eyes as he racked with a joy and sorrow that has since left him.  His body shakes under the weight of his emotions, completely lost to their control.

_“KATE, SHE JUST SAID DAD!”_

_“WHAT?!”_

_“SHE JUST CALLED ME DAD! YOU JUST SAID YOUR FIRST WORD, ANNIE ANNE!”_

A hand finds its way to his shoulder, but he’s too far gone to shrug it off.

_“Remember how to play it, honey?”_

_Dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun._

_“Yeah, you got it! It’s like I’m watching the movie right now.”_

_“DOUGLAS, I KNOW YOU DIDN’T JUST TEACH HER HOW TO PLAY THE JAWS THEME.”_

A blurry image of a beautiful woman and a smiling toddler emerges in his mind as the voices continue to cycle in his subconscious. Something heavy settles in the bottom of his churning stomach.

_“I can’t do this anymore, Doug.”_

_“What do you mean?”_

_“I think you know what I mean.”_

It hurts. It hurts and he just wants it to end-

_“It’s gonna be okay, sweetie. Daddy’s got you.”_

No. No, he’s done. He doesn’t want to remember this.

_“Damn keys. Won’t…get in…”_

He doesn’t want to remember that night.

_“Aha…haha! Think y’could take ‘er from me, Kate-“_

He doesn’t want to remember the impact of the crash, how the airbag caught him from slamming his head right into the dashboard. He doesn’t want to remember the police dragging him out of the car as the paramedics moved to rescue Anne, how much blood had been covering his daughter’s head, the moment he knew he had truly lost her forever-

_“Be a shame if something were to…make that little girl sad…if something were to happen to her.”_

Oh God, who _said that_? Who would even dare threaten-?

_“Your daddy loves you very much.”_

One last memory, one last twist to the knife embedded in his brain, and it’s over. His breathing is rapid and strangled, but he’s breathing again. The world around him comes back into focus, first his hearing, then his vision. Still bent over, he notices a few stray tear drops splattered between his knees.

“Doug? Doug? Doug, can you hear me-?”

He snaps his head up, throwing a very upset Renée off her guard. She must have come back over when he was having his…his…

How can he even describe what just happened?

“Doug. Doug, you’re okay. You’re alright,” Renée assures him. Her strip is as tight as steel on his arm, Isabel’s just as much so on his shoulder. Both of them are looking at him with a crease between their eyebrows and a gloss over their eyes. “Just breathe. It’s going to be alright-“

“Where’s my daughter? W-Where’s Anne?”

Doug gets to watch Renée’s face pale in horror promptly before he passes out.


	4. Parting Gifts and Phone Calls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jacobi does some thinking. Minkowski has a revelation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait! School is kicking me where it hurts rn

As if the weight of his late friend’s will wasn’t already a strong enough burden to carry on his shoulders, now Jacobi is stuck babysitting an unconscious Eiffel while Minkowski and Lovelace fuss over what to do in the other room.

He _literally_ just showed up like an hour ago and everything has already gone to shit. Well no, scratch that, his life was already going to shit before he even arrived. Figures the one time he makes it anywhere from a flight early and someone’s gone into a memory coma.

Couldn’t Eiffel have waited to have his mental breakdown after he had handed Lovelace back the keys to her apartment and taken off on his merry way? Sure, if what happened to Eiffel is anything similar to the breakdowns he has himself, then sure, the man can’t control it. It’s not his fault.

Jacobi just wishes the universe would throw him a bone. Just once, let him go one day without something going wrong.

Eiffel is currently tucked underneath a pile of thick blankets with two firm pillows propped up behind his head. There are red rims along his eyes and a thin layer of sweat glistening on his forehead. To put it lightly, he looks like crap. Dear God, hasn’t the man been through enough already?

Then again, who is Jacobi to decide who deserves what.

Time stretches on and eventually, Jacobi finds himself pulling a folded piece of paper out of his coat pocket. Opening it back up, he reads over the printed lettering again, and again, and again. No matter now many times he looks over it, he finds it hard to believe what he’s seeing.

“What’s that?” Hera asks him.

“Nunya.”

“Nunya?”

“Nunya business,” he replies gruffly. He tucks the paper away before she can catch any of it through the house cameras. The last thing he wants to talk about now is the curveball Alana has thrown his way on top of all this drama.

Hera huffs. “It was just a question, Jacobi…is something wrong-“

“No,” he answers too quickly. His own voice doesn’t even convince him he’s right.

“If there is, you can talk to us about it.”

“Heh, sure. Yeah. I’ll bring my problems back to the Brady bunch. I’m sure you all will be a great help.”

Hera sighs. “You may be an asshole, Jacobi-“

“Hey!”

“But don’t think we can’t see passed those words you throw in our face to aggravate us. We’re worried about you.”

Jacobi scoffs. “Why? The captain’s back; she can water her own houseplant now. I thought you all would be glad to get me out of your hair?”

“Despite how you act, Jacobi…we care about you. I know Alana did, too, and she left you everything she owned.”

A spike of fear runs down Jacobi’s spine. He leaps off the couch, shoving a hand in his pocket to make sure his copy of Alana’s will is still carefully folded inside. It makes him a minute to realize Hera couldn’t physically steal it off him and she probably just peeped over his shoulder through one of the cameras.

“How much did you read?” he demands.

“I-I didn’t mean to pry, but…almost all of it.”

“Jesus Christ-“

“You’ve been acting weird lately! I was worried it was a…well, I don’t know! But I was worried, _okay_?”

“Stop worrying and stay out of my business,” he growls, looking around the room to try and find a camera he can give the stink eye to. “And don’t even _think_ about telling the others, even though I already know you’re going to-“

“I don’t have to tell them anything.”

Jacobi pauses. “What?”

“I’m not under direct orders from anyone anymore. I’m my own free person, and I get to decide what secrets I keep and give away.”

“That still doesn’t explain why you’re keeping your mouth shut about this.”

“Alana was very close to you. She…I can’t completely forgive her for what she did to me, but she did save me once before. I like to believe…she was still a good person, and…i-it was just a heat of the moment thing…what she did.”

A lump wells in Jacobi’s throat that he was to swallow down before speaking. “Yeah, well…we can both just blame Colonel Asshat for that one.” He shakes the very thought of Warren out of his mind, knowing if he thinks of both his ex-crewmates he’ll lose it. “Alana was a good person, Hera. Maybe not all the time, but…people make mistakes.”

“I know that.”

“Good.” Slowly, Jacobi takes his spot back on the edge of Eiffel’s bed and pulls Alana’s will back out. The paper, which was once crisp and pristine, has faded slightly from the sweat off his hands. He’s tried to keep it in a fairly good condition, but the legal document is already wrinkling beyond repair. This time, as he reads through it, he makes sure to angle it away from him just a little bit farther so Hera can see the rest of it.

“She…she really didn’t like her family, huh?” Hera asks.

Jacobi laughs. “Hated ‘em.”

“Can I ask why?”

“They were bigger assholes than me, that’s all I’ll say.”

“Oh.”

He waits until Hera finishes reading the whole document before folding it back up and putting it away again. “You see what I’m dealing with here? Dummy _literally_ gave me everything she had. It’s like she knew…it’s like she knew I wasn’t gonna take care of myself once we got back.”

He tries to nonchalantly brush a stray tear from his eye.

“She gave you a home,” Hera observes. “Are…are you gonna move into it?”

And be surrounded by every earthly possession Alana had? Let every piece of furniture and scent of lotion from her bathroom punch him in the gut and remind him she’s not here?

“I’m…not sure. I haven’t decided yet.”

“Well…you don’t have to decide right away. Just… Jacobi?”

“What, Hera?”

“Please, if you say no, make sure you have somewhere to go.”

He bites his lip to keep it from quivering. “No promises.”

 

~~~~~

 

“How the fuck does he remember he has a daughter?” Lovelace demands.

Minkowski can only shake her head as she paces around the living room, empty snack plate still abandoned on the floor from earlier today. Her mind is racing with a thousand possibilities, half of them ending with her making the whole thing up due to her already frayed nerves.

First, Dominik wouldn’t pick up, and now Doug won’t wake up, and the stress is killing her. Figures when it’s a crucial time when she should be trying _not_ to be stressed.

“Also, a better question, you still haven’t told him about his _kid?!_ ”

“I didn’t want to overwhelm him!” Minkowski nearly shouts, throwing her hands in the air. “He-he was spacing out like crazy when we got back, and telling him about Anne was only gonna make it worse.”

“So letting him have a panic attack was the better alternative?”

“You think I knew this was going to happen?!” Minkowski snaps.

Lovelace takes a deep breath and forces it out quickly. “Okay, let’s both calm down. This wasn’t anyone’s fault. I’m sorry for making it seem like it was.”

Minkowski drops her arms and bows her head. “No, it is my fault. I…I should have told him a long time ago. I just didn’t know how to start that conversation.” She closes her eyes with a sigh. “What do we do now?”

“We wait until he wakes up,” Lovelace tells her. “Or until he looks bad enough we have to call in a doctor. Then we ask him how much he remembers.”

“And…w-what about Anne? What if he asks about her, or Kate?”

Lovelace runs a hand through her hair. “Well, he’s not going to see them today, that’s for sure. We’ll cross that bridge when we get there.”

Minkowski nods, letting herself get lost in her own thoughts. If Doug remembers everything, there’s no telling how he’ll act once he wakes up. He’ll be furious with her, that’s all she knows for sure. It’ll sting, but it was her decision to keep the knowledge of his family away from him. She curses Pryce under her breath-

Wait.

“Pryce.”

“What?” Lovelace asks.

Minkowski looks up. “If Doug remembers everything that happened, does that mean Pryce…?”

Blood drains out of Lovelace’s face faster than Minkowski can blink. Immediately, she whips her phone out of her pocket and frantically starts dialing who Minkowski assumes is the psychiatric facility currently holding the ex-Goddard Futuristics maniac. Memories or not, the lady assisted in the near genocide of the entire planet; she would be lucky to get away with anything less than life without parole.

“I really hope you’re wrong,” Lovelace mutters fretfully, waiting for someone to pick up the call.

They both stare at each other, scared out of their minds as the call continues to go unanswered. Ten seconds go by, thirty, a full minute-

Until finally, someone’s voices comes through on the other side. Minkowski exhales, not even realizing she was holding a breath in.

“This is former Captain Isabel Lovelace of the _U.S.S Hephaestus_ station. I need you to put me on the line with whoever is watching after Miranda Pryce _right the hell now_ …This is an _emergency_! I have reason to believe she might be able to regain her memories…"

Lovelace's voice only grows more frantic as the conversation drags on. The anxious rope wrapped around Minkowski’s neck continues to tighten as she waits, leaving her winded. She plops down on the living room sofa and clasps her hands together.

She prays to whoever’s listening she’s wrong. Pryce can’t remember. She can’t.

She puts a hand to her stomach and starts one of the various breathing exercises her therapist taught her. _In…out…in…out…in-_

The line goes dead and Minkowski’s heart stops. She jumps out of her seat and turns to Lovelace. "Well?”

“They’re taking care of it. Putting the whole facility on lockdown until they’re sure she’s still vacant upstairs.” Lovelace knocks her knuckles against the side of her head to show her point. “They’re also sending someone down here to check on Ei-Doug.”

“Good,” Minkowski replies meekly. She feels as if she’s going to pass out, which isn’t good for her health and the health of her-

Suddenly, her own phone starts to vibrate in her back pocket. Frantically, she pulls it out and is greeted with her husband’s smiling face on the screen. “It’s Dominick. I-I gotta-“

“Go,” Lovelace nods. “I’ll go check on Doug and make sure Jacobi isn’t being an ass.”

Minkowski gives her a soft smile. “Thank you, Is-“

Just then, Hera’s voice comes through the speaker above her head. “Uh guys? He’s up, and…Renée, he wants to talk to you.”


	5. A Moment and a New Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Doug questions everything. Renée confesses everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait. The flu passed through my house and we all got super sick. But I'm better now so yayyyy

Saying Doug is upset is like saying water is wet.

Hazy visions of a life he once lived pass through his thoughts like cars speeding down the highway; too fast to catch the exact detail of it but just slow enough to know it was there. The smiling face of a little girl with his hair and someone else’s eyes haunts him viciously, as if she were holding all his memories in a game of keep away.

He knows that girl is his daughter. He knows he has a daughter and he did something wrong. He also knows he’s not on good terms with her mother.

But the reason why eludes him.

Now, as he sits up in his bed and presses the palms of his hands against his eye sockets, his mind screams for answers. Guilt eats away at him while hot shame boils in the pit of his stomach. Air comes into his lungs at an irregular pace, either in short supply or an overflow. He doesn’t know what he did, but whatever it is he hates himself for it. The agonizing ache in his chest to fix something is all the proof he needs to know that he fucked up, _Doug Eiffel_ fucked up. _He’s_ Doug Eiffel and _he_ fucked up.

Why didn’t anyone tell him about his daughter? How come he didn’t know? Why does he know now? Is this some kind of joke, some cruel trick played on him by a god or exterritorial being?

He longs to hold a child he’s never met.

Daniel coughs awkwardly from the other side of the room, and Doug doesn’t have the energy to ask him to leave. He’s vaguely aware of Hera coaxing him through his breathing, but her words are almost static at this point.

Static. There’s still so much static in his brain, in Doug Eiffel’s old logs-in _his_ logs. So much he doesn’t know. So much he doesn’t understand. In what other ways has he screwed up in his lifetime? How many bridges has he burned? Where are his parents? Does he even have any? Do they know he’s back on earth?

He just wants to know who he really is.

“Doug?” He hears Isabel, strong and confident Isabel, timidly call out to him as she steps into the room. “Doug, you need to calm down.”

“Where’s Renée?” he rasps weakly, his response already prepped on the edge of his tongue in case he needs to talk to anyone, sort of like a prerecorded message.

“She’s on the phone with Dominick,” Isabel tells him. “She’ll be here in just a sec, okay?”

He doesn’t offer any response, not even a simple nod of his head.

“I’m gonna take a seat on the bed with you, how about that? Is that okay?”

This time he nods, only because he knows their worry will grow if he doesn’t respond.

Isabel sits down at the edge of the bed, just a few inches away from his feet. It’s close enough to be mildly comforting, but far enough away that he feels like he has space. The walls are already closing in on him fast enough as it is. The air keeps thinning in his lungs. She has her hands clasped together patiently in her lap while Doug’s are shaking so much. So _so much_. The whole world is shaking, falling apart.

“What do you remember, Doug?” she asks calmly while his mind is screaming.

“Uh…I-I…Anne. I remember Anne.”

“Anne. Okay. You remember Anne. What about Anne-?”

“She’s my daughter...her mom hates me…s-she’s _my_ daughter…”

“That’s right,” Isabel nods slowly. “She’s your daughter.”

“I…I did something…something bad to her?” His veins turn to ice. “Did I…kill her? There was so much blood, _Jesus_. Is she dead? Did I kill Anne?! Did I kill my baby-?!”

“No! No no no, Doug. Anne’s fine, she’s okay,” Isabel reassures him. She holds her hands out in front of her, maybe to calm him down, maybe to ward off the evil person he truly is. He’s not really sure. “You need to keep breathing, alright? Remember what Renée taught you.”

He just shakes his head, too lost to his hysteria to listen. “She knew. I _know_ she knew…did you know?” He turns to Daniel. “Did you know? Hera, did you-?”

“We did know, Doug,” Isabel tells him. “We all did.”

The only true breath of air he takes since he woke up is in the gasp following her confession. “You…all you knew and…no one…why did no one _tell me?_ ”

The four people he trusts most with his life and the life he lived before lied to him. Kept a part of him locked away.

How?

“It…the decision to keep it from you-“

“Get out.”

Isabel blinks. ‘What?”

“I said _get out_. I just…I need a minute to think, okay?”

Isabel struggles to find words, opening and closing her mouth repeatedly. She turns to look at Daniel, who only shrugs. “Doug-“

“ _Leave_.”

His throat burns with every plea he gives, the smoke billowing out as weak tears in the corners of his eyes. Despite his efforts, he can’t seem to keep them from cascading down onto the sheets below. As he finally breaks and is swallowed by the waves crashing in his mind, Isabel and Daniel quietly make their departure.

Pieces of Anne’s features arrange themselves together, starting out fuzzy and jaded before bursting to life with exquisite detail. She truly did not- _does not_ have his eyes, his deep pools of dark brown. Instead hers are a delicate blue, the kind of blue that hangs in the early morning sky. She does have his hair, though. Wavy, peppered with frizzy strands at the top, and overall just a firm mess of dirty blonde roots.

He can feel the warmth of her smile in his memory. The two dimples on her cheeks dug in deeply every time she laughed. How her face would light up whenever he told her a terrible joke or said anything in general really. Everything we said was comedic gold to her. There was nothing wrong he could say to Anne.

Plenty wrong he could do, however.

There was a crash and it was late at night and that’s all he knows. That’s all he knows and it’s killing him that he can’t remember it fully. All he does know with absolute certainty is that he did something unforgivable, something he will never be able to atone for.

What did he do? What did Doug Eiffel do?

A sharp creak breaks through his raspy sobs like a knife in the dark. Not bothering to wipe away his tears, Doug looks up and watches silently as Renée steps into the room. She catches his gaze immediately, her eyes wide and wavering. As the door closes softly behind her, she diverts her sight to the floor.

“I’m sorry.”

He doesn’t say anything. He just waits to see if she’ll continue, which she does.

“I’m sorry you had to find out about Anne this…this way. Whatever happened today…i-it wasn’t fair to have it all shoved in your face without any warning. And it certainly wasn’t fair to keep her away from you. I-I…I should have told you a long time ago…I’m so sorry.”

A dull anger pokes at his insides, but Doug can’t muster up the strength to use it. Instead, he continues to stare at her and mumbles, “Yeah, that wasn’t very cool.”

Renée sighs. “I didn’t know how to tell you. You were just figuring out who you were. You still are. A-And every day, you always mention yourself in the past tense. Like you never were Doug Eiffel…like he’s…dead or something.”

“Renée…”

“And then every time you space out, it scares the hell out of me. Not to mention all the times you say how…how _awful_ you sound in your logs. Y’know, it’s _r-really hard_ to tell you you’re wrong because the truth is Doug…you weren’t always the best. You made mistakes, you took jokes too far, and for that first year we know each other you were a pain in my ass. There, I said it. Okay?”

“Renée-“

“But you _just_ …you just have to _trust us_ , Doug. Trust _me_ , _please_ , when I tell you how much of a good person you were. That you’re still a good person. A _great_ person. You sacrificed everything for this world, for us…without even a second thought. I needed-“ Her voice cracks and for a moment, she falters. However, she quickly picks up where she left off. “I _need_ to realize how important what you did was, and…I was afraid you would completely give up on yourself if I told you what happened…w-with Anne and Kate. As one parent to another…I know I crossed a line in doing so…keeping them a secret. I’m so, so sorry.”

Dough thinks for a moment about how he feels of her apology, then how Doug Eiffel would feel of her apology, and then decides he doesn’t need to consult a dead man about how he should react. Right now, he doesn’t want to think about how much dirt he must unearth to fully appreciate what he did. For now, he just wants to salvage whatever solace he can about what he’s remembered.

And also-

“What do you mean…one parent to another?”

Renée’s eyes meet his again, wide with realization. “I-I mean-!”

“Renée, what do you mean-?”

“It’s nothing. Forget I said-“

“ _Renée_ -“

“I’m pregnant, okay?! There, ya happy?”

Doug leans back, the words physically moving him. Of all the things he expected her to say, it’s safe to say he wasn’t expecting that. “Oh.”

Renée rubs at her eyes and pushes a hand through her unkempt hair. “You…you can’t tell anyone yet, alright? I just found out this morning.”

“So that’s…that’s why you left this morning…does Dominick know?”

She laughs shortly. “I just caught up with him. Been trying to call him all day. I forgot he was in one of his important meeting things, the ones that last an eternity and he complains about the next day.”

Doug can’t help the smirk that spreads across his face. “Important meeting thing.”

“Shut up, I know what they’re really called,” she snaps back, but there’s no bite to her words. “But yeah, he knows…he’ll be back in town in a few days. He booked the first ticket he could over here.”

“Was he…happy…about the news?”

She beams, her eyes crinkling around the corners. “He…he’s ecstatic. Probably more excited than I am, to be honest.”

Doug frowns. “What do you mean?”

Renée’s previous fondness melts away and is replaced with worry. “Well…” she takes a seat on the edge of Doug’s bed. He sits up better and leans closer to her. “There’s…there’s so much I feel like I’m still trying to understand-still trying to _accept_ about…well, everything. What happened to us, how we ever made it back, everything we lost. Everyone we lost…”

She’s thinking about them. Dr. Hilbert and Dr. Maxwell. Doug knows he could make a shot in the dark and mention them, but he has a feeling saying anything right now would only makes things worse.

Renée lets out a shaky breath. “I haven’t gotten more than four hours of sleep at night since we got back,” she confesses. “When I close my eyes…I’m back on the _Hephaestus_ …and something always seems to be wrong. The life support system has gone out, Kepler has us at gunpoint, you’re dying from Decima or flying into deep space or-or…I don’t know. Some of them are real, some I make up.” She scoffs. “Sometimes I’m convinced they were all real. At this point, I don’t…I don’t think I’m ready to bring a child into my mess. I don’t think it’s _right to_.”

There are many things Doug could say to her, many of which he considers in the passing moments of silence that follow. _You’ll be a great parent, don’t worry. The kid is going to be fine. Don’t worry about it_. But it all sounds so fake, almost shallow of him to say. He doesn’t know Renée like he used to, but he does know her well enough not to lie. She was cheated and deceived far too many times in space; she deserves for Earth to be a haven from distrust.

“I don’t know a thing about parenting-“ he starts, which makes them both wince. “Let me start again. No wait…no, I’ll lead with that because I don’t. I don’t remember what it was like raising Anne. I’m sure it was hard, but I can’t just tell you it’s gonna be alright. We’re all pretty fucked up, and we’re probably stay pretty fucked up for the rest of our lives…but you know what?”

He waits until Renée looks at him to continue.

“You’re lucky you’ve got a huge group of fellow fucked-up people who are gonna support you no matter what.”

She smiles. It’s a small, quivering smile but a smile nonetheless. “Thank you, Doug.”

He smiles back, but quickly returns to the true topic at hand, dropping the smile just as soon as it appeared. “I’m…upset about…y’know, keeping me from Anne and whatnot. Which I think is reasonable. Like, it’s fine now…but it’s not, ya know?”

Renée looks down at the floor. “Yeah…I-I understand.”

“But I’m not-“ he sighs. “I’m not sure if…i-if I want Anne to meet me yet. Not until I feel like…like I’m a person _worthy_ of her seeing.”

“You are worthy,” Renée responds immediately.

“Maybe, but the Doug Eiffel before me wasn’t. Or at least…the part Doug Eiffel who ruined her life.” His voice suddenly grows smaller, his throat swelling up to the point it nearly chokes him. “God, what did I _do_ to her?”

Renée puts a hand on his shoulder as the tears begin to sting his eyes again. “I’ll tell you what happened that night. I promise. You deserve to know everything about yourself, Doug. But let’s wait at least until the morning…you need to calm down for now.”

Every fiber of his being is furiously demanding for answers, to how he screwed up. Yet, his emotional exhaustion gives in anyway. “You’re right.”

“And you have to promise me something, okay?”

He locks eyes with her. “What?”

“That you’ll give yourself a chance.”

The request shakes him to his very core. Give himself a chance? Give Doug Eiffel a chance? The douchebag from space who placed his own child in danger? How could be possibly cut himself any slack? Why should he for that matter?

Half the time, he considers having his memory wiped a curse. He can’t connect with his friends almost at all (the five minutes he felt like he was actually in space don’t count). He can’t comfort them when they go off on a tangent about Goddard Futuristics or the mysterious Mr. Cutter or anything. All he can do is stay silent and pat their backs like an outsider looking in, which is what he has become to be.

Other times, he considers it a blessing. It’s the world giving him a second chance to be a better person. To be the man who didn’t sneak cigarettes aboard a space station or talk smack about genuinely good people. Some part of him sees it as a challenge to prove to himself he can make a better person, one that these damaged people he considers his family actually need.

The only reason he hasn’t made up his mind on the matter is the how everyone, mainly Renée, treats him like he’s a fallen hero. Like he was someone who is worthy of all this praise. Maybe they just miss who he was, or maybe they’ve fallen to rely on him in their grief. The seed of doubt they’ve planted inside of him drives him insane. He wishes they would treat him like the criminal he truly is.

But the look on Renée’s face causes him to pause, which leads him to space out, which leads to him finally making a decision on the matter.

He’s going to listen to her, because if he actually wants to prove that he’s better than himself, he’ll do it the right way. The long way, but the right way.

“I will.”

Renée’s eyes widen. “Really?”

“Really. Wait, were you expecting me to say no?”

“Well, no I-kind of? Or at least if not that, something not exactly yes? That doesn’t make sense, does it?”

Doug laughs, shaking his head. “Nope. It doesn’t. Just…be patient with me, okay?”

“Of course, Doug. Always have been, always will be.”

They both chuckle, sharing this moment the two of them have needed for one long month now. There is much more grieving ahead of them and so many more bridges that need to be repaired. But for now, they have this small moment of forgiveness, this one clear sing that they are going to be okay. They are going to get through this, and that’s all that matters.

The moment is only broken when Renée’s phone starts ringing. She quickly apologizes as she whips it out of her pocket and checks the collar ID. “It’s Dominick. Are you…gonna be alright tonight?”

Doug looks up at the ceiling. “I got you Hera, don’t I?”

Hera’s voice immediately crackles to life. “Oh! Y-yeah, yeah I’m here Doug. I got him Renée.”

“Thank you Hera,” Renée nods. She stands and dusts herself off but hesitates to walk out of the room. “You sure you’ll be okay?”

“Renée, go. I’m good,” he waves her off with a kind grin. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Tell Nick I said hi.”

She laughs. “I will. Goodnight Doug.”

With that, Renée slips out the door and closes it quietly behind her.

As soon as she’s gone, Doug flops down on his back with a heavy sigh. He runs both of his hands over his face with a groan.

“Doug? You…feeling alright?” Hera asks timidly.

“Not really,” he admits, placing his hands at his sides. “Hey, thanks for giving us that time to…do whatever we just did.”

“Speak from the heart?”

“Yeah, that’s one way to describe it.”

Without even asking her to, Hera dims the lights in the room until they eventually go off. “You know, what you said to Renée applies to you too.”

“What does?”

“That you’ve got a group of fucked-up people to support you.”

He gives a long and hearty laugh, his smile wide enough that it hurts his cheeks. “Thank you Hera.”

Hera hums sweetly. “Goodnight Doug.”

Doug stifles a yawn and rolls over on his side. “Night Hera.”

Tomorrow is a new day, and like every other day before he is going to be as good a person as he can be.


	6. Sticky Notes and Scavenger Hunts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jacobi does some reading. Lovelace tries to be patient. Hera abuses her powers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A chapter dedicated completely to Jacobi angst

Two Months Later

 

 _This means nothing_ , Jacobi tells himself as he inserts the Hello Kitty key into the lock and turns it with slow precision. _I haven’t made up my mind about this_ , he continues as he turns the handle and pushes the door open. _I’m just here to check the place out_ , he decides as he takes his first steps into Alana Maxwell’s old apartment.

The first thing that this him is the smell.

It’s musty (no shit Sherlock, the place hasn’t been cleaned in over a year), with the overwhelming scent of dust wafting through his nose. The familiar incense she used to burn back before they left on the _Urania_ is no where to be found (smelled?). There’s not a single hint of it left.

That being said, absolutely nothing else is out of place.

The layout is small, given it’s a studio apartment in the middle of the one of the biggest cities in the country, and Jacobi finds himself exploring the layout on autopilot. There’s a skinny living room attached to a pitiful excuse for a kitchen, with a sink full of dirty dishes and chipped coffee mugs placed on the counter. Adjacent to the kitchen is a dingy wooden door that leads to Alana’s bedroom. It’s closed but unlocked.

Jacobi turns away from the door, not yet ready to take on that little adventure, and walks back into the living room where Lovelace is waiting for him.

The former captain eyes the place over with a hand on her hip, her other hand holding her phone out to survey the scene through its tiny little camera. “Not a bad place. A little paint and some TLC and this place’ll be good as new.”

Jacobi scoffs. “Don’t get any ideas. I’m just here to make sure no one busted in and robbed the place. Y’know you’re more likely to get robbed by your own landlord than by a cat burglar?”’

“You’re making that up,” Hera says through the tiny, busted speakers on Lovelace’s smart phone.

He shrugs. “You don’t know, it could be true.”

“Well, is everything in its place?” Lovelace asks as she peers her head into the kitchen.

“Yeah, it appears so,” Jacobi mumbles. His eyes dart up from the poorly carpeted floor, to the cracks in the walls, and up at the water residue on the ceiling. “Everything’s in its regular state of disrepair. Computer junk on the couch, empty incense burner-“

“Even these dirty dishes?” Hera quips.

“Sure, yeah, whatever,” he mutters, ducking his face into the zipped-up collar of his windbreaker. This was a terrible idea to come here, and as more time passes he is convinced more of that. There are too many memories here, too many reminders of what he lost up there in space. Vicious emotions swirl around in agony in his stomach, and Jacobi does his best to swallow them down. He is not a sentimental person; hell, there isn’t a sentimental bone in his entire body. The sooner they can get out of here the better.

Lovelace walks out of the kitchen, fiddling with her phone to give Hera the best view possible. Not that there’s much left to show the AI, besides the WIFI unit plugged in by the wall that allowing her to communicate with them several states away. She looks up from her phone and notices the purposely closed door ahead of her. “You been in here yet?”

She reaches for the handle and Jacobi’s body sprints into action, slapping her hand away before he has any idea of what he’s doing. “Don’t!”

Lovelace stares at him, obviously confused. Compared to Jacobi, the lady could bench press a school bus full of high schoolers; she could squash him like a bug if she wanted to for that. “Something wrong, Daniel?”

“Don’t call me that,” he snaps. “And don’t open that door.”

“Why? What’s in there?” Hera asks.

“Nunya.”

“Nunya-?” Lovelace starts.

“Captain, don’t fall for it,” Hera stops her. “C’mon, Jacobi. Seriously? Just tell us.”

Sensing a chance of letting his vulnerability slip, Jacobi plays his favorite card in the whole wide world: The Sarcastic Asshole card. “You caught me. It’s a sex dungeon. Real nasty stuff in there. Don’t say I didn’t warn ya.”

“ _Jacobi_ ,” Lovelace stresses, her patience with him deteriorating, “I didn’t buy you a ticket to fly your ass out here after months of debating just for you to deflect.”

“I’m not deflecting!” he protests, but his voice cracks at the end making him sound like a whiny teenager. His face turns red and he quickly looks away to avoid any more embarrassment. “It’s just her bedroom, alright? Geez.”

Jacobi hates the way Lovelace’s features soften once he finally confesses. The downward tug of her lips and the wide stretch of her pupils scream pity and pity is just something Jacobi does not _do_. “You’re not ready to go in, are you?”

“Pff, w-who said that?” he laughs. It comes out too shaky, just like his wobbling knees. “I’ll go in. S’no issue with going in there.”

“Okay, then go in,” Hera says.

“Absolutely not.”

Lovelace gives him The Look, The Look that means she’s about to call him out on his bullshit. “You’re deflecting.”

“I don’t want to go in there, alright?! Look, I just because I finally own the place doesn’t mean I want to peer in all its nooks and crannies.”

“But…I thought you were going to move in?” Hera asks.

Jacobi looks away as Lovelace’s gaze narrows. He braces himself for the fallout over what he’s about to say. “I never said that.”

Lovelace’s jaw drops. “I BOUGHT YOU A PLANE TICKET AND DEALT WITH YOUR INDECISIVENESS FOR THE PAST TWO MONTHS JUST SO YOU COULD WALK INTO THIS APARTMENT AND SAY, “Oh, I don’t _actually want it_.” Are you SERIOUS?!”

“Oh my God, Jacobi,” Hera mutters underneath the captain’s words. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Jacobi’s whole body starts to tremble, with what emotion he’s not really sure. “Look, what _I_ chose to do with this place is _my business_. My name’s on all the legal papers, all the bills are being payed for out of my own pocket, but that doesn’t mean I have to _live_ here!”

“When where the hell are you going to stay?” Lovelace practically growls. “You can’t keep crashing from one couch to another living off whatever remains of your bank account! Do you even have a plan for your future? Do you want to end up on the streets after everything you’ve gone through?”

“I DON’T BELONG HERE!” he finally yells, _screams_ almost. Whatever the last straw is, it’s been broken and he can’t help but to go off. “This is _her_ place, ALANA’S PLACE, not Mr. Loser Jacobi’s place. She should be the one unlocking the door with her stupid pink keys and cleaning her own dirty dishes from over a year ago and-! God…”

He covers his face with a hand, the sobs stuck in his throat. The last thing he is going to do today is cry, thank you very much. A few deep breaths later and he successfully manages to suppress his unbridled sorrow, just the way he likes it to be. Suppress and repress is his life’s motto.

“Let’s just go, okay?”

Lovelace stares at him long and hard, her mouth parted as if to say something, but she releases a heavy sigh instead. “Okay. We can go.”

“Great…”

“You’re going to have to come back here eventually, though.”

Jacobi only shrugs.

She sighs again, this time with more agitation laced in. “Well, c’mon then. Gotta lock up behind us.”

They file out of the kitchen and through the living room. Jacobi makes some last-minute observations as they walk out; one of the hinges on the bathroom door looks like it needs to be tightened, there’s a loose floorboard under the carpet by the couch, the letter table has an envelope with his name printed on it in pink glitter glue-

Wait, what the fuck?

He takes a quick pass over towards the envelope and snatches up just as quick as he saw it. The last thing he wants-okay, there are a lot of things he doesn’t want right now-is for Lovelace to stop him right before they’re about to walk out because Alana thought it would be funny to leave him an arts and crafts project before heading into space.

The envelope is a bit stuffed for its size and burns a hole inside Jacobi’s coat all the way it takes them to lock up and get back to Lovelace’s car. He throws himself into the backseat and stays silent as they drive away from the apartment complex, busying himself with the hem of his shirt and half-paying attention to whatever conversation the girls up front are having.

“So what’s Doug doing right now?”

“Still walking around trying to find the Roomba.”

“Where’d you hide this time?”

“Under the couch.”

“Ha! Ah, why do you feel the need to torture the poor man?”

“It’s not my fault he can’t find me! If he didn’t want this to happen, he never should have given me a Roomba in the first place!”

“You are a despicable person.”

Jacobi feels himself growing more irritated as the minutes roll on by. He tries desperately to ignore his ramped curiosity, but to his utter disappointment he gives in. With the utmost stealth be can muster while tightly buckled in his car seat, he slides Alana’s letter out of his windbreaker and carefully unseals it.

The second he gets the envelope opened, there is an explosion of confetti.

With a _pop!_ the blast scatters multi-colored scraps of paper directly at his face and all over the backseat. Lovelace gasps, swerving almost completely into the next lane before straightening up again. “Daniel, what the FUCK?!”

Jacobi spits a few pieces of confetti out of his mouth. “Nothing.”

Lovelace proceeds to cuss him out from the front seat, but instead of arguing with her or asking her not to call him Daniel again, he picks the rest of the envelope’s contents apart.

Which ends up being a pretty bad idea because it doesn’t take long for him to start tearing up.

The first few items he pulls out are crumpled sticky notes of various sizes and colors. Most of them have random, incomprehensible notes written on them it would take a million years for anyone to decipher. Some that really boggle Jacobi’s mind include _Toaster Milk,_ _how do you power a car without the car parts???,_ and _need to buy more Christmas Santas._

The rest all say the same thing: _Love ya Dan :P_

Jacobi ignores the tightness in his chest and pulls out a small stack of photos. The air in his lungs catches the moment he sees Kepler’s face peering up at his, with his smug grin and steely eyes. Most of the pictures appear to be from their times on the road doing SI-5 missions, meaning he should be expecting to see that traitorous bastard in every single one of them. He tries to look past and pretend he’s not there at all.

Right now, he just wants to be bitter about Warren. If he lets himself get soft, the guilt of not being able to save his old friend will haunt him.

There’s a picture of the three of them standing outside a burning _Arby’s_ , which if Jacobi remembers correctly may have been his fault. There’s another of the three of them piled into Kepler’s old _Camaro_ , Alana and him making funny faces in the back seats like the toddlers they truly were on the inside.

A few are from the time they got snowed in at a motel and had to get pretty comfortable around one another for nearly half a week. There’s a picture of him and Alana watching shitty motel cable at two in the morning, another of their enormous room service haul (which they wasted most of their trip budget on), and despite his resentment towards the man, Jacobi can’t help but laugh when he gets to hold a physical copy of Warren Kepler singing in the shower that his best friend risks her very life to take.

(To this day, how she never got caught is a mystery to the both of them. Or just to him now, if you want to get technical and depressing.)

He reaches the last picture in the stack and his heart stops. It’s the two of them in Alana’s apartment a few days before they left to board the _U.S.S Hephaestus_. The apartment looks just as messy as it did today, but the light coming in from the open windows gives it this heavenly glow that sends shivers up his spine. In the picture, Jacobi has Alana’s arm wrapped around his neck as she holds her phone up above them. She’s laughing, her single distinct dimple digging into her left cheek right underneath the mole beside her eye. The highlights in her hair are brighter than they were when they finally found the _Hephaestus,_ but otherwise she looks exactly the same when she died.

She looks like any other twenty-eight-year-old. Happy, young, and with no plans to get murdered in counterspace.

He stares at the picture for a long time, long enough for a few unwanted tears to drip down to his chin. Wiping them away, he reaches in and pulls out whatever his fingers grab onto first. What he pulls out is a folded-up piece of lined paper that looks like it was torn out of a spiral notebook. However, the torn edges have been mostly trimmed off. He unfolds it hesitantly, as if expecting it to disintegrate in between his calloused digits.

A sea of graphite letters await him one the creases are folded back.

_Hey Danny Boy-_

Oh God, it’s a letter.

_If you’re reading this, I’m either dead or showing this to you in person after we get back._

Jacobi is not going to cry over this.

_Hopefully we’re both just laughing over this crappy letter I wrote but you can never be sure, am I right?_

He’s crying instantly.

_I mean, we’re gonna be stuck in the middle of space. There are approximately one thousand and seventy-two ways we can die. I did the math; There are literally that many ways to die in space._

Jacobi wonders if a bullet to the head is one of them.

_So in case I kick the bucket out there, I thought I should leave a little something behind for you. If I’m still there, congratulations! You get to go on this little scavenger hunt with me! If not, maybe see if Scary Ol’ Kepler will do it with you._

A sob escapes him. He covers his mouth to keep the other ones at bay.

_You’ll find the first clue on the back of one of my sticky notes. I’m not gonna tell ya with one though ;) Look at me, your friend who writes thoughtful letters like a grandma learning how to text._

_You know how bad I am at expressing my feelings, and I know how bad you are with yours. If I’m really dead, then I know you’re going through hell right now and I wish more than anything in the world I could be there to help you. But I’m not, so listen up Daniel._

_Keep on moving. Don’t give up. Give whoever or whatever killed me the finger for me and exact some old-fashioned revenge for me, okay? Or if that doesn’t feel right, then don’t. I don’t know, the right thing to do is probably to forgive than lash out. Then again, we’re not good people. But you’re an amazing human being Daniel who deserves the best._

_So above all, I want you to live. Move into my apartment I left to you in my will and make friends with the neighbors. They’re alright. Go out and take a walk in the city, meet someone new, or maybe meet the right guy for you. Find someone to share the rest of your life with, even if it’s a cat. If I’m not there, there’s no need to worry about me getting allergic to them anymore._

_I love you Daniel._

_Ugh, sharing your feelings is hard. Do you know how many times I’ve had to rewrite this part of the letter?_

Judging by all the eraser markings, Jacobi can guess enough times to frustrate her. Alana was always one for results, not trial and error.

_Anyway, it’s late so I’m gonna wrap this up and go to bed. We’ve got a long day for us tomorrow and a whole lot of tomfuckery to cause in space with the colonel. Have fun on your little hunt!_

_-Alana_

Jacobi has been shot, beaten to a pulp, and nearly blown up more times than he can count in his life. But this? This hurts more than any of those instances ever could combined. It leaves a searing, agonizing ache of sorrow and hopelessness in the bottom of his heart.

But above all, it leaves him with some form of solace. It leaves him with a piece of his best friend to carry with him, and one last mission he has to carry out.

“Daniel, are you alright back here?” Lovelace asks from up front.

Jacobi sniffs, wiping at his eyes one last time. “Yep, yep just…got some confetti in my eye.” As he dodges the question, he turns over the letter and reads his first clue.

_What probably had seven legs and smells like ass? That mystery meat in the sandwiches Kepler always has for lunch. You’ll find your next clue where he keeps his lunch._

Jacobi doesn’t need a world-famous detective to solve this one for him. Every day, Colonel Warren Kepler would walk into _Goddard Futuristics_ with a sack lunch and place it in a separate mini fridge away from the barbaric lands of the communal fridge in the break room. He knows exactly where to find his next clue: Kepler’s office.

The only problem is that the mini fridge in question happens to be located in _Goddard Futuristics_ main building, which was closed down and placed under constant surveillance by the government shortly after they got back to Earth.

Time for him to do some breaking and entering.


	7. Presents and Cough Drops

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Doug makes a discovery. Miranda has a visitor. Renée refuses to give up a grudge.
> 
> Slight warning for a mention of vomiting and some Wolf 359-typical graphicness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, sorry for the wait. Life finds a way to get in the way, y'know? I appreciate the patience :)

Every time Doug goes through a safety check at the maximum-security prison Miranda is held in, he always wishes he decided to wear a better pair of underwear.

Sure, he is a somewhat-functioning adult that _could_ go out and buy a pair of boxers without the Star Wars rebel symbol printed all over them, but a part of himself feels like it’s wrong to go out and replace any of Doug Eiffel’s previous things-

Sorry, _his_ previous things. Still working on that.

Call it self-loathing or survivor’s guilt (guilt in which he survived but at the cost of everything that made him who he was, robbing his friends of the man they once knew), he’s still standing in front of two heavily-armed guards in nothing but his skivvies and a hair tie. The place Miranda has been kept in ever since their arrival takes any attempts of escape as serious as Spock would handle Star Fleet protocol (Hey, that’s one reference he can finally use again!). Any time Doug wants to come over and chat with his friend/ex-genocidal maniac, he has to take off most of his clothing, get x-ray scanned, get scanned by a metal detector, get x-rayed _again_ for some reason, before he finally gets to put his clothes back on and relieve himself of his embarrassment.

Today, he’s brought along with him a little gift for his space buddy, which means he had to go through two rounds of security to get in. As annoying at it may be, it seems right to bring Miranda a little something from the outside world given she doesn’t get to see it herself. It’s the least he can do.

(He’s been wondering for the past few months whether it’s right to keep Miranda locked up when the woman she once was is long gone by now. Whenever he brings it up to the others, they shut him down immediately. He can see where they’re coming from, but if what they think is true, shouldn’t he be back in jail for what he did to his daughter, criminal record expunged or not? The two of them really aren’t that different, come to think of it.

Once they figure out how he’s been able to piece parts of his memories together, he thinks then it’ll be time to vouch for her release.)

Once the guards deem him as an unharmful, bashful amnesiac, they let him get dressed and send him off on his merry way to the visitor center. It’s hard to change quickly while also carrying a wrapped package and Doug nearly drops his gift five times just fumbling with his belt. He does eventually make himself presentable again and before he knows it, he’s sitting at a steel table waiting for Miranda to arrive.

It doesn’t take too long for the guards to bring her out. With one guard each holding onto each of her arms and another two trailing behind packing enough heat to make Doug’s skin crawl, Miranda steps into the room. Quickly, she meets Doug’s gaze and smiles somewhat nervously. He can’t really blame her, given the amount of security it takes just to let her walk a few feet. She takes a seat directly in front of him and is soon given a few feet of space (literally a few feet of space; the guards are still practically breathing down her neck).

Doug is the first one to break the tension. “Hey Miranda.”

“Hi Doug,” she smiles, this time with ease. “It’s so nice to see you.”

“Same here. Brought you something.”

He slides his gift across the table, his gut churning a bit as one of the guards flinches. Carefully, Miranda grasps the wrapped-up package and starts to uncover it. “Aww, Doug, you didn’t have to do this.”

“Oh, stop it. Least I can do for ya. I just hope it doesn’t, y’know…suck.”

She chuckles. “I’ll love anything you give me, promise.”

“Even if it sucks?”

“Yes, and you won’t even have to worry about me saying it does.”

“Well, at least your honest.”

They both laugh at that just as Miranda finishes unwrapping her present. Peering inside, she gasps and quickly pulls out a leather-bound photo album. Doug can’t see it form where he’s sitting, but he knows she’s staring at the picture of the Hephaestus crew he glued (carefully) onto the front cover. It had taken some crafty scrapbooking skills to accomplish it, and even more cleverness to get the whole gang to take a photo without telling them what it was for.

Miranda’s eyes widen. “Oh my God, did you make this?”

Doug grins, tilting his chin up. “Look inside.”

Slipping open to the first page, which is filled with various portrait photos of the crew, Miranda hand begins to shake. “These are…did _you_ take these?”

“Maybe…”

She beams at him. “They’re beautiful. How long have you been doing photography?”

“Two weeks,” he admits. “The filters I used did most of the work. But I promise the quality will improve next time I come.”

“Next time?” She asks.

“Well, yeah. I only filled up the first few pages or so, and you’ll probably get tired of seeing the same mugs every time you open it up. Oh, and those other weird ones I took around the house. Sorry the ones of Hera’s Roomba are kinda blurry.”

He watches intently as Miranda flips through the pages of the photo album, her features slowly morphing into a tearful smile (or tearless smile, given her robotic eyes didn’t attach to her tear ducks, which Doug still thinks she might still need to get checked out). It dawns on him the longer they sit there in silence how this truly is her only glimpse into the world outside her cell, outside this prison. The world kept away from her grasp is one she’s never been able to experience in all its glory, unlike him.

Doug has heard many things abbot Miranda Pryce of Goddard Futuristics, and none of them are good. Psychopath, murderer, genocidal maniac.

This Miranda, the one he’s taken the time each and every week to get to know, is nothing like the lady that died in space. She’s so kind and so very grateful for every bit of affection directed her way.

She should be the one making new memories, not wallowing in a past she had no part in. It’s not right. It’s not right at all.

He hides his anger in a smile as Miranda finally looks back up at him. She would be weeping right now if she could, and it comes through in full in her voice. “Thank you. Thank you so, _so much_. You have no idea…I _wish_... _thank you_.”

“Don’t mention it. Really. It’s the least I can do.” He thinks for a moment. “Hey, Miranda?”

She rubs at her dry, metal eyes. “Yes, Doug?”

“You…holding up, alright?”

A bit of her joy fades away as she sets the album down. “As well as I can. I…I miss you all, even if…even if most of you don’t miss me. And s-sometimes it’s hard getting out of my bunk in the morning, but…” She breaks into a smile so brittle, Doug’s pretty sure a gust of wind could shatter it. “I’ll be okay. I’m fine. How about you? Any new memories?”

He stares at her long and hard before breaking into a sigh. “I’m peachy. Haven’t remembered too many new things. Just little stuff like fishing with my dad and some weird memories from high school.”

“Have you talked to your parents yet?”

“Renée has. I’m, uh…not quite ready for that yet. She’s doing great with the pregnancy, by the way.”

“That’s good…how about Anne? Have you seen her yet?”

There it is. The question everyone including himself has on their minds. “No, no I haven’t yet. Again, that’s…not something I’m ready for yet.”

Miranda nods solemnly. “Doug, can you do a favor for me?”

“Anything. Shoot.”

“Will you promise me…that you’ll try your best to enjoy yourself out there? For my sake. I-It seems like you’ve been doing fine so far, but… _please_ find a way to talk to your family. Be grateful you have some to return to.”

Well, if that isn’t a punch to the fucking heart. Doug learns forward in his chair and places his elbows on the table. “Miranda…” He swallows back a lump forming in his throat. “I can’t promise you I’ll talk to them soon, but I can promise you I will do it eventually.”

“Do it before the year’s over.”

“The year?”

“Before it’s been a year since we got here, at least. Please Doug, I’m worried about you.”

Doug’s eyebrows shoot up. “You’re worried about _me?_ Worry about yourself. This-this mess you in…it’s not fair to you. If anything, we should both be in here, not just you.”

“ _Stop it_. You earned the right to be out there because of who you were. I wasn’t a good person, Doug. I _killed_ people…and now I have to make up for that fact, memories or no memories. You can’t get me out of here, not until my sentence is up, so please live a happy life free of as many regrets as possible. _Okay?_ ”

It take a moment, due to him still stewing in the unfairness of it all, to come up an answer that will cause his friend the least amount of stress he can possibly offer her. “I’ll try, Miranda. I’ll really try to.”

 

Doug’s feelings of “Fuck This World and all it’s Unfairness” stick with him long after saying goodbye to Miranda and continue to following him like an unwavering storm cloud as he goes shopping with Dominick.

It’s Sunday, which means it’s grocery day, which means it’s run to Target with Dominick because everyone else hates shopping day. In the past few months, the two of them have formed a system that gets them in and out as quickly as possible: Dominick buys all the edible goods, Doug handles everything else. Normally, their calculations end with success and they only end up spending a max amount of thirty minutes wandering around a stranger-invested department store.

Today, however, Doug has hit a roadblock. His roadblock being he can’t find the very specific brand of cough drops Renée has a coupon for and it’s turning his already sour mood into an unbearable emotion festival. He feels like he’s about to break into a temper tantrum like some kind of baby, all because he can’t find something in this god damn store.

Not wanting to make an embarrassment of himself in public, Doug decides to just text Dominick and ask him to help him find them. Dominick, being the stand-up guy he is who responds to texts at the speed of light, tells him he’s on his way. This leaves Doug to fume silently and stare at the various migraine pills placed out right in front of him.

It’s not fucking fair. Why does Miranda have to wallow away in a prison for decades when she doesn’t even remember the terrible shit she did before her memory went to hell? All signs point to her never recovering her lost memories, so why isn’t she the one watching old Star Trek episodes and going to Target on Sundays?

Oh right. Because of him.

If Doug’s memories can come back, then there’s a good chance Miranda’s will, too. No one wants an ex-crazy person with a high capacity for building death machines running around the world willy nilly.

So in the end, it’s really his fault she’s there.

Maybe it’s a stretch, but Doug’s gut is telling him Miranda would be spending a lot less time behind bars if his brain weren’t suddenly on the mend.

His hands clench into fists at his side. It’s not fair. It’s not fair. He didn’t ask to remember all the fucked-up shit he did before the Hephaestus mission. He never wanted to lose his memory in the first place (or according to how everyone treats like a self-sacrificing hero, maybe he did). Besides that, it’s not right for someone else to have to take a bullet just because he dodged in the way of it first.

How does he remember? Why is he remembering so randomly? What inside of his body is repairing all the broken parts of him and why can’t he find these stupid fucking _cough drops_ -?

Suddenly, his head is on fire.

Of all the times for his brain to rack up another round of painful memories, it’s now in the middle of Target’s drug section. Honestly, right now all Doug feels about it is annoyance. All it means for him is a few agonizing minutes of nearly suffocating and a hell of a lot of self-reflection later. Before the pain can truly get to him, he crouches down onto his knees and tucks his head between them. His breathing grows more rigid with every passing second, and soon enough the real impact hits him.

This time, instead of static visions of his daughter or estranged girlfriend, or any other small pleasant things like spring break or riding a bicycle, he sees an old man. Well, not a super old man but noticeably older than him. Dawning a lab coat over a Goddard Futuristic jumpsuit and a pair of coke-bottle glasses, the man gives off the appearance of an evil scientist or something. His bald head and scraggly beard _definitely_ don’t help give any better impressions of him.

He hears a voice in his head, a heavy Russian accent, and it is equal parts comforting and deeply horrifying. Feelings of relief and fear, rage and remorse clash inside his muddled mind as he tries to make heads or tails of who this main is.

_“Officer Eiffel-Decima-Plant-Officer Eiffel-Commander-Captain-My Work-“_

Various snippets of conversations long past tangle together into one incoherent stream of thoughts. Images from another lifetime drift from memory to reality; he watches as puddles of blood forming around his knees and needles are stuck into his arms.

Doug feels the contents of his stomach threaten to rise out of-oh, never mind. The warning of nausea comes too late. Now wallowing in his own filth in the middle of a department store, he rides out the rest of the visions with what little grace he can muster

That man…that man did something to him. He tried to kill him.

No, he saved him.

Why?

A gentle hand lands on his shoulder, and Doug’s not sure if he’s still hallucinating or if Dominick has found him. He blinks away the blood splatter from his eyes and sees the dirty store tile beneath him, completely untouched by any red bodily fluid, and feels the pulsing in his head fade away.

“-going to be alright, Doug. Just keep breathing. I’m going to call Renée-“

“I’m back Nick,” Doug rasps, cutting him off. He turns to face Dominick, who looks a good few seconds away from his own breakdown. It occurs to Doug that this is the first time the man’s witnessed him go through one of these memory flings. “Don’t worry, it’s over. Help me up?”

Dominick jumps to her feet and immediately offers Doug a hand to help him rise to his. His knees buckle just slightly underneath his weight, but he quickly gains his proper footing. Besides his soiled pant legs and the fact that his respiratory system has just ran a marathon, Doug’s body feels none the wiser.

“Can I, uh…wait in the car while you check out?” he asks.

“I’ll just come back later,” Dominick assures him. “C’mon, let’s get you home.”

 

Hours later, once Doug is back in his rent house and taken care of his state of hygiene, he finds himself sitting across his dining table from Renée, who hasn’t let him out of her sight since the incident. She has one hand on top of her pregnant belly and the other cradling a warm cup of tea Dominick was so kind to brew for her.

“Hilbert tried to kill me once. Do you remember that?”

“Yeah, I do,” he answers tiredly. “On my birthday of all days, too. What an asshole.”

“And you remember…everything about Decima, right?”

Another subject to add to Doug’s Top Ten List of Things He Doesn’t Want to Remember, right up there with how he got charged with child endangerment. “Yu- _up_. That was a fun thing to have blasted into my brain _for sure_.”

Renée hums anxiously. “I guess I really don’t need to catch you up on anything then. How are you taking it?”

Doug reaches out and grabs the glass of water Renée had insisted he try to keep down. The glass is cool to the touch, beats of condensation rubbing against his fingertips. He takes a few deep sips and drowns half of the glass before setting it back down with a sigh. “I’ve got…mixed feelings about the guy, gotta be honest with ya. Hilbert…or I guess I should say Demetri was a messed-up dude. But…I think I saw a bit of myself in him. He was a man who did something unthinkable, and…I’m not really sure if he redeemed himself in the end, to be frank. Maybe that’s not up for me to decide, but what do I know?”

Renée nods before taking a small sip of her tea. She pats her belly and gazes off into the distance. “You saw Pryce again today?”

He can sense the disapproval in her tone. “Yeah, I did. She seems pretty down, even though she tries to hide it from me.”

“Hmm,” Renée groans, but all Doug hears is _Good_. On any other day, he would jump to his friend’s defense, but today he barely has enough energy to keep his eyes open. He’s tired, he’s scarred for life, and he just wants to stop dealing with so many moral dilemmas. He’ll bring it up tomorrow if he feels the need to get into another argument.

Hera’s voice suddenly sparks to life above their heads. “Has Dr. Pryce remembered anything yet?” It comes out so timidly it makes Doug’s heart ache and Renée’s face fall.

“No, she’s still a blank slate,” Doug reassures her (reassures them both, really). “She doesn’t have a regenerative virus in her body to fix her broken brain cells-“

Wait.

_Wait._

**_Wait._ **

“Holy _shit_ ,” Doug gasps, leaping out of his chair. His glass topples and spills over onto the table, making Renée jump. “Did I just-? I think I just…I just fucking figured out what’s been going on, didn’t I?! It’s the Decima virus! It has to be!”

Renée stares at him, completely at a loss for words. Thankfully, Hera does the talking for her. “I…I don’t have any science to back it up, but…Commander-I mean, Renée, I think he’s onto something.”

Doug feels a grin spread across his face. “It has to be. I know it. I can feel it.” He laughs. “This is great! Now we know why my brain’s getting a reboot and we can convince the government or whatever to let Miranda out of prison.”

“What?”

The edge to both of his friend’s voices dashes Doug’s small flicker of hope. “W-Well, if I’m right, then there’s no need to keep her locked up, right? She can’t get her memories back like I can, _sooooooo_ everything’s good.”

“Everything is _not good_ ,” Renée snaps. She stands out of her own chair and lets it screech loudly against the kitchen tile. “We still don’t know if the reason you’re remembering certain things is because of Decima or not. If it isn’t, then Pryce is still a threat to all of us.”

Fatigue be damned, Doug feels his anger from before rushing back to him at full force. “The Pryce you all knew isn’t the same one that’s in prison. She’s changed because she had no choice but to! And if you all took the time to get to know her, you’d see that too.”

“Memories or no memories, she’s still Dr. Pryce,” Renée growls.

Doug scowls. “So then am I still Eiffel then? The man who threw his own baby daughter into reckless danger because he couldn’t get a hold of his alcohol abuse?”

“Guys, let’s calm down, okay?” Hera pleads through the overhead speakers.

“You _are_ Eiffel, Doug,” Renée insists. “We’ve already been through this.”

“And according to you-all of you-my actions must define me, right? So where’s my prison sentence? Where’s my orange jumpsuit and pair of handcuffs? Do I get my own cell or do I have to bunk with Miranda-?”

“YOU NEVER TRIED TO _KILL US_ , DOUG!” Renée finally breaks. “You don’t…you don’t understand what we all went through because of _her_ and _Cutter!_ So don’t you _dare_ tell us-tell _me_ what she deserves. I know _plenty_ about what she deserves.”

Anyone with an untrained eye would never notice the quiver on Renée’s lips that are peeled back over her barred teeth, or the slight tremor in her heightened shoulders. It is the look of someone who has been beyond traumatized, someone who has stared at Death in the face and had to give a part of themselves up to look away.

It is the look of someone who is broken.

He may be right, but the shame Doug feels isn’t worth any victory he could receive. He looks down at his bare feet, the tips turned purple from the cold tile below them. “You’re right. I don’t understand. Not yet. It’s not right for me to say how you should feel. Just-“ he looks back up at her. “ _Please_ , don’t turn your back on her.”

Renée looks away from him and picks up her mug, which has grown lukewarm by now. She takes one last long sip before placing it back on the table, completely empty. “Call me if you remember anything else, Doug,” she mutters. Then without glancing at him, she walks passed him and walks out the front door, nearly slamming it behind her.

Doug sighs, long and heavily, and looks down at the mess he has left to clean up. Silently, he grabs a handful of paper towels and begins to sop up the water dripping off the edge of the table.

“Hey Doug?”

“What Hera?” he asks just barely above a whisper.

“The next time you go to visit Dr. Pryce…I want to come, too.”

That makes Doug pause. “Really? You’d be okay with that?”

Hera sighs just as heavily as he did before. “I’m not sure, but I think…you’re right, about not shutting her out.”

“Thank you-“

“But I’m _not_ ready to forgive her yet.”

He nods. “I understand.”

As he continues cleaning, a part of him wonders how long it’ll take to get passed security when he brings Hera along with him.


	8. Late Night Talks and Powerful Kicks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dominick opens up. Renée tries to rationalize.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *bursts into the room* I'm bACK
> 
> Sorry for the wait (again). I'm having a hard time balancing school and the millions of other tiny projects I have given myself. I hope you all like angst because here's almost 2,000 words of it! JK there's some fluff too bc I'm weak

If there’s one thing Dominick never wants to experience ever again, it’s sleeping in an empty bed that his wife should be beside him in.

If there’s one thing Dominick does not want to be experiencing right now, it’s the angry wrath of his wife who is sleeping beside him. And by sleeping, he means fuming.

He didn’t ask what happened to cause the fuming, but from what Renée grumbled under her breath when she got home, he gathers it has something to do with a Doug Eiffel who happens to lives just shy of a hundred feet away from them. That, and the infamous Miranda Pryce he has heard endless tales of villainy of. It seems to him she has many valid reason to be feeling the way she does, given what Pryce did to his wife (forcibly faking her own death and trying to actually kill her several times comes to mind).

Still, he’s very uncomfortable lying next to someone who looks like she’s about to explode at any given minute.

Dominick quietly fiddles with his thumbs, knowing perfectly well trying to defuse the situation on his own will only lead to a bigger explosion (his knowledge comes from previous experience). To his right, Renée is angrily flipping through the pages of a home and garden magazine, her mind obviously elsewhere. She does stop for a moment on a page labeled with gardening tips, which does excite him a bit. He remembers a hot July day shortly before a fated commander was set to go off into deep space. The two of them with their elbows deep in top soil and a beautiful array of tulips at their side waiting to be planted. They barely had time to stay at the house, much less take care of a garden, but something about the clear weather and jitters in both of their stomachs had them destined to spend that afternoon together. Calm silences, content giggles, even a mulch fight thrown in there for the heck of it. Her laugh that day would echo in her ears for months, years, haunting him as the last of her smile faded from his memory and every night sky reminded him of just how much he had lost-

“Nick?”

His heart jolts, along with the rest of his body, as Renée’s concerned voice pulls him back to the present.

“Hmm? Yeah, what is it, honey?”

Her eyebrows knit tightly together. “You were staring off for a while there. Is...everything alright?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah. I’m…I’m good. Just thinking about…thinking about the tulips.”

Renée’s features soften, the small smile stretching across her lips as warm and inviting as it was that day in July. “I can’t believe I forgot about those. We’ll have to plant some more.”

Dominick grins back at her. “We could add some other plants, too. Like marigolds, and those pretty pink ones with the purple in the middle. They’re, ah…they’re called…I don’t know, but they’re pretty.”

She laughs.

“Like you.”

She laughs a little harder. “Smooth, Mr. Kodelka. Really, really smooth.” She leans in closer to him and he meets her in the middle, sharing a soft kiss before they part ways again. “I’m sorry I’ve been…seething in rage all night.”

This time he laughs. “It hasn’t bothered me,” he lies with a tone like silk. “I won’t press you for details, but if you need to talk about anything, you know I’ll give a helpful ear.”

A hard edge settles into Renée’s smile, no doubt because she just remembered what pissed her off in the first place. “Oh, you know…just Doug being a dumbass.”

Dominick knows this move. He knows how she represses all her issues, minor and major alike, behind her full set of kings and queens. He raises a single brow, slowly, like a knife cutting through butter. Time to play his aces.

Renée sighs heavily and folds. “He thinks the reason he’s remembering everything is because of the Decima virus.”

One of the issues of being married to a badass space hero like his wife is that all her horrific stories of bravery and combat get mixed into a mess of details. “Decima…that was created by Dr. Eggbert?”

“Hilbert,” she corrects him with a light giggle before quickly dropping back into her previous mood. “Well, he thinks since he’s the only one who has Decima, Dr. Pryce won’t be affected by her memory-wiping death machine of…of stupidness.”

Dominick would find his wife’s use of childish words amusing if her eyes weren’t suddenly glossing over. “He thinks it only affects him…but you don’t believe that.”

“He doesn’t understand what she did to us!” Renée snaps. “Or at least…he didn’t. He doesn’t understand how much she took away from him.”

She sets aside her magazine, the flimsy booklet almost falling off the side if not for Dominick’s quick thinking. He sets it on his nightstand, taking his time to allow Renée to wipe her eyes “without him noticing.” In the dim light of their bedroom, his hand finds hers and holds it tight.

Renée intertwines her fingers with his and squeezes them like he’s the only one holding her down to Earth. “He has a kid out there, Nick. A little girl who he’s…he’s just completely forgotten about…how could he possibly forgive a lady who took that _away_ from him?”

There’s a fine line to walk here to avoid having her go to bed frustrated and heartbroken. The last thing Dominick wants to do is watch Renée suffer under the cover of night. He opens his mouth, unsure of what to say, and lets the words fall out.

“You know, after Goddard told me you were dead…I believed them.”

Renée turns to look at him, but Dominick keeps his eyes fixated on their bed sheets.

“I didn’t question anything like any reasonable, concerned husband would. I just…gave in to the notion that you were truly…gone. Then I blamed myself for…for so many things. For spending so much time at work, for sleeping in until after you left that morning, for not telling you every single minute of the day how much I loved you…”

He looks to her now, a burning lump rising into his throat. “I love you. I love you so much and I’m so sorry. I’m so, _so sorry_.”

The lump bursts into a fireworks display of hot tears that streak down his cheeks and down to meet his Adam’s apple. Renée sheds a few stray tears of her own and she moves in to embrace him, mindful of the added distance her belly will cause. Dominick buries is head into her shoulder, his nosed tickled by her loose hair. His hands shake at her sides, clinging to her as his own tie this world.

“I don’t know how I kept going,” he mutters through harsh sobs. “I j-just…buried myself in my work…hoping it would distract me…God, it didn’t work at all. I missed you so much…”

“Shh, it’s okay. It’s okay. I’m here,” Renée whispers in his ear, her own voice wavering.

“And now you’re back, and we’re starting a family, and…sometimes, it just doesn’t feel _real_ , you know?”

“Oh, believe me, I know.”

“And I want to help you figure out what’s g-going on with Doug, ‘cause he’s a good guy and you care about him so much, but…I don’t really know him. Or…I’m not sure what part of Doug I’m supposed to know. I want to tell you you’re right to think he’s wrong, but honey, after everything that’s happened, I don’t know what to believe anymore. And I know that’s such a shitty answer a-and I wish I could come up with something better…” he swallows back a sob as he starts to shake. “Just please…remember you have every right to be angry at Pryce for what she did, but you don’t n-need me to tell you that. I-I wish I could help you more. I really do.”

He feels delicate fingers brush a piece of hair off of his forehead, wiping away some of his tears in the process.

“It hasn’t been fair of me to expect you to follow along so easily,” Renée speaks gently. Her voice is a crisp breeze fluttering past a wave crawling up the shore. “I keep asking you for answers when I don’t even know if my opinions on everything is right. I…I know the Dr. Pryce I know is gone, but now that Doug is remembering, I’m…I’m so _scared_ she’ll come back. I don’t want to have to go through any more of the hell she put me through. I want to be here with you, with our child in the house we bought. I want Doug to be right…but I can’t take the risk that he’s wrong. Not now, not ever.”

Dominick pulls back to rub at his nose, hoping he doesn’t damper their emotional conversation with the snot trickling down to his lips. He sniffs, reaching for his wife’s hands and grasping them tight. “I know I’m not the brawniest man in the world-“ Renée laughs- “but I promise you, We’re never going to be separated again. I don’t care what we’re going through; I’m always gonna be right here.”

“And I’ll always be here for you,” she assures him with a light kiss to his lips. Her head falls onto his chest as she sighs heavily. “Damnit.”

“What?”

“I think…I think I should listen to Doug. Never thought I’d say that, but here we are.”

Dominick grips her shoulders and carefully brings her up to face him. “I know you’re worried, but if anything goes wrong, you can always stuff Pryce back in her maximum-security cell. It’s got her name on it and everything.”

Renée smiles softly. “I don’t think I’m ready to vouch for her release yet, babe. But I’m ready to give her the benefit of the doubt.”

Suddenly, she gasps, her whole body going rigid. Dominick lets go of her shoulders, startled. “Nick. _Nick_.”

“What? What’s wrong?”

“I felt a kick.”

His heart swells. “Really?!” Already, he moves to place his hands on her tummy, waiting until her own hands guide his to put them down. It takes a few moments, but soon enough he feels a tiny foot press up against his index finger. He grins so wide his cheeks hurt, his eyes brimming with new tears.

Life is truly amazing.

“Don’t you think it’s a bit early for them to be kicking like that-Oh!” Renée asks as their baby goes in for another round.

Dominick can’t stop smiling. “Do you want me to call the doctor and ask?”

“Well, not _now_. It’s late and I’ve had enough meltdowns for one day.” They both laugh. “But tomorrow, yeah. Just to be safe.”

He presses the side of his face to her stomach and closes his eyes. Every little thump to his cheekbones is like a little punch of pride. No, it’s so much more than pride. It’s a feeling Dominick just can’t describe. The woman he loves more than anyone else in the universe is carrying their child. Soon enough, he’ll blink and their kid will be swaddled up in his arms.

To think of how much has changed in just a few short years.

 “Hey honey?”

“Yes Nick?”

“I love you.”

Her laugh that follows sends warmth flowing through his entire chest. “I love you, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading bud :)


End file.
